


The 61st Hunger Games.

by Mocking



Series: District Twelve is only allowed one Victor every other decade. [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Characters, Gen, Hunger Games, Missing Scene, Or actually a Missing Game, Violence, rating mainly for language, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mocking/pseuds/Mocking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Issac does not falter. “I owe you and the Capitol my life. For no deed I do or have done will ever repay what you have granted me.”</p><p>Caesar takes Issac’s hand. “Your Lion! Your Victor of the 61st Hunger Games! Issac Michael!”</p><p> </p><p>==========</p><p> </p><p>Issac Michael is reaped for the 61st Hunger Games. He's smart, charismatic. But is it enough to allow Haymitch Abernathy to bring him home as a victor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why I have to fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for about ten of you, there will appear to be chapter disappearances and deletions. Do not panic. I’m merely reformatting the story. I’ve decided that I want to do a lot more with how mentoring works and so am cutting out Haymitch’s viewpoint entirely. I love the guy, but I can’t really write him and I feel like I’m just using him as a shortcut around plot issues.
> 
> If people get really curious, I may post all of Haymitch’s POV in a separate story and try to flesh it out.
> 
> Posting of the redone chapter(s) will be up as quickly as relief and anxiety allows.

Issac Michael stands in the crowd of District 12 children with a distinctly bored expression on his face. There is an itch on his leg that he is not going to scratch because he’s pretty sure the camera is pointed his way. He’s tucked beside to other kids from the Home, both with seam coloring, making his dirty blonde hair; not the color, his hair is actually pretty fair, it's just filthy and has been for the six years since the Michael house burned down and he went to live in the Home; seem nearly bright. 

There’s a fly buzzing by his ear, Issac shakes his head just enough to dissuade it from landing. Julius Templeton, the escort for the last two years, makes his way on stage followed by a staggering Haymitch Abernathy.

It's not a surprise that 12’s only living Victor is drunk as a skunk. Issac used to be disappointed by him. The clear intelligence of the man being swamped and eroded by the alcohol. He lives like a hermit and the fence around the Victor’s Village, while not patrolled, is rarely breached. Once upon the time the man had a life, now he seems to only be holding onto it at gunpoint.

Julius on the other hand is... a plant? Issac cocks his head because, yep, the man is green. Green hair, green contacts, lime green eye shadow, and his entire ensemble is brown. He looks like a small topiary in a much too tall pot. Next to him, Abernathy seems like a perfectly normal, productive member of society.

It's all perspective. Issac bites back a grin. There should not be anything amusing about a reaping, but, well. It happens every year and every year two kids from die from something a little more interesting than they would if they had stayed in Twelve. Shirley McCall died of a foot infection two weeks ago. The only difference between her and whoever get called up is she never got to leave Twelve.

The cameras get turned on and the screen goes live. The film is all about the glory of Panem and Victory. Issac watches it with more attention than his neighbors, you can sometimes tell which district is going to have mutt problems based on what it says, and good taste or bad, Home kids are sometimes dumb enough to bet on the games. More trading off chores or dares, but it passes the time and Issac is fairly good with the odds.

There is an odd, water theme that might be hinted at in the propo that Issac turns over in his head as Julius wishes everyone a Happy Hunger Games in his bitingly sarcastic tone. Issac doubts that the man hates Twleve for any more reason than the kids die too quickly to give him any air time. Escorts get more recognition when they are assigned to places like One or Four, places that make the final eight. Julius is probably going to quit. Most escorts only seem to have a shelf life of a few years, or maybe that’s unique to Twelve.

Willow Smith gets called up. Issac fights back a sigh. She looks about twelve and is already a sobbing mess by the time she gets dragged up to the stage, snot running down her face and grey eyes wide and red rimmed. She might get lucky and die within the first three minutes, otherwise the shear volume of her crying might make her good bait. Careers are not known to be wasteful of resources and she’s old enough they won’t make it a clean kill.

Julius scowls at her and Abernathy shakes his head. It's not going to be a Twleve year.

“Issac Michael.”

Issac frowns and cranes his head around to see who called his name.

“Issac Michael, come on now, no need to be shy.” Julius tone is bored.

No one grabs Issac, but everyone around him shies away. He stares for a long moment at his own face, projected on the scene. Did he really have dirt on his cheek and no one tell him. White uniforms move in the corner of his vision and Issac finds his feet moving with little input from his brain. He takes the steps on the stage two at a time and pivots to face the crowd. He carefully does not met his gaze in the screens, instead he watches a bird circle its way higher and higher in the sky. He closes his eyes and imagines being up there with it.

He should not be reaped. It was not an accounted for possibility. But he stands on stage, Merchant eyes and hair but orphaned, seam clothing, and wonders if this is how getting trapped in a cave-in feels. Air running out and no idea if anyone is trying to save you or not.

Peacekeepers march him to the Justice Building and when Willow stumbles, he grabs her up and realizes she’s even smaller than she looks. He could probably throw her farther than he trusts her. But she clings to his side and, for now, kindness costs him nothing.

They separate them. This is where they say goodbye but Issac has already said it. He said it to darkness and ashes and he has no need to say it again. He wonders if he could convince the Peacekeepers to keep people out, than discards the idea. Goodbyes are not for the ones leaving, but for the ones staying. 

Shale comes in with Cole. They’re fiddling with something and won’t met his eyes. Gazing skittering around the room. Issac clasps his hands behind his back and watches them cooly for a long moment, before his indecision breaks. “Bet on their being something wrong with the water in the arena. But no guesses on what sort of mutt action we will see. Try to keep- uphff.”

Cole has always been stronger than him and Issac can feel that even as the boy’s arms tremble around him. Shale looks lost and so Issac wiggles an arm out to gesture him over to join the hug. The stay like that for long moments where even Issac fights tears and the only sound is there heavy breathing.

They finally untangled themselves and Issac presses their foreheads together before stepping back and straightening his shirt. “Take care of each other. Help the Peacekeepers when ya’can. It does no one any good to get caught.” Issac scuffs his shoe on the carpet so he does not have to face their betrayed looks. He knows they want to fight but, even orphaned seam kids should know better than to court the whip. No one is going to stand in for them if they get in trouble.

There is nothing to say after that. They leave, murmuring goodbyes and Issac wonders how quickly they’ll seek to forget him. The real him standing here and not some twisted version of a half remembered boy.

A dark haired man comes in next. He sits down near the door and just looks at Issac. Issac looks back, frowning as he tries to place him. But then he sees it and the words are out of mouth before he can bite them off. “I won’t die for your daughter, sir. But it's okay to hope I do. Doesn’t make ya a bad guy, jus’ a parent.”

Some small, near hysterical part of him laughs at the unintentional pun. Apparent. Because the man’s reaction makes the truth apparent and he’s a. Parent.

Issac does his best to keep his face controlled because laughing at this man’s pain would not only be bad taste, but dumb. He has a foot on Issac and mining muscles. Going into the arena with an injury is suicidal.

Issac is slightly shocked by the knowledge that he thinking about winning. But he tucks it back. The audience only likes arrogance when it's earned.

“I don’t want you to die.” The man says.

Issac nods. “I don’t think that’s gunna be up to us.”

The man stands up and leaves.

Issac rocks back on his heels and starts pyramid counting. He gets to twenty before the door opens again. Its Peacekeeper Lynn, the current caretaker at the Home. She’s a very tall, very severe woman. She is not kind, not remotely nice but... Issac is a good boy most days and he changes a diaper faster than anyone in the District. It makes for an odd dynamic.

“You’ll do what they tell you to, won’t you Michael?” Her voice is cool and Issac nods along without a thought.

“Yes, ma’am. It is an honor to serve Panam.” Issac rocks back on his heels again and stares up at the ceiling. He’s blinking back tears and has no idea how they got there but if they know what's good for them they’ll get gone.

Peacekeeper Lynn’s hand is gentle on his chin as she guides it down. He meets her eyes with a swallow. “You remember why you are there. You remember what the games teach us. What they prevent. You make sure to show everyone why they are needed, none of this carrying-on that that girl is doing.”

“I figured she got the tears covered. No need to split the pity sponsors.” Issac's voice shakes without his permission, but he keeps his eyes on Lynn’s impossibly blue ones. “I’ll do it right.”

Peacekeeper Lynn nods and lets him go as she steps back. She is polite enough to pretend that he isn’t wiping his eyes when he turns his back. When Issac finally manages to straighten himself out, she’s holding out a box.

“You are allowed to take a token.”

Issac takes it and opens it. Inside is a piece of dark glass on a string. He picks it up and runs his thumb over its smooth surface, its mostly grey, like part of a chimney with black swirling in it and on the surface. The entire thing weighs maybe fifteen grams and the only truly unusual thing about it is the fact that someone made it into a disk. Like the bottom of a bottle, busted out and then a hole drilled through it with a red ribbon looped through. Issac ties it around his neck.

Peacekeeper Lynn fixes his collar and the hang of the ribbon, “It's smokey quartz. My father mined it back in Two.”

Issac blinks, trying to process that information. Not only the idea that Peacekeepers had parents and that they weren’t just human shaped muttations grown by the Capitol, but that Lynn had parents. Parents that she remembered who had given her someone that she still had, that she was giving to Issac.

He touches the disk carefully. “Did you love them? Your parents?”

The Peacekeepers face does something strange. Issac realizes that this weird look of constipation is her version of regret.

“Things are... different in Two. I left my parents home very young. But yes. Yes, I loved them.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “Now remember, no histrionics or heroics.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Issac agrees.

For one horrifying moment, he almost thinks that they are going to hug. One look at the Peacekeepers face shows how unpleasant she finds the idea. They both give a choked off laugh and Lynn claps his shoulder and gives him an abrupt nod before leaving.

For the next few minutes, Issac is alone. He thinks about sitting down. But he doubts he would get back up. He has a sudden, vivid image of him just refusing to leave the chair, clutching it until one of the Peacekeepers unfurls a whip and makes him move. He swallows and rocks back on his heels.

It seems like days pass before the door opens again and he’s lead through to the train. The man, Willow’s father is holding a sobbing woman and he stares up as Issac and Willow board the train. He looks ancient and far too young and Issac realises that he will never be that old. The thought chases him up the stairs and into the carriage. 

He’s shown his room and a dining car but honestly, he can not not find it in himself to be arsed about either. He falls asleep within moments, propped up against a window. Julius wakes him what seems to be moments later and sends him off to bed.

 

(/**)/

It's dark when the door creeks and Issac folds back the blanket with a half muttered, “... Well don’t just stand there.”

An unfamiliar body slides in next to his and Willow presses cold feet to his calfs. “You didn’t change.”

“Tired. Lilly-bae had collick last night.” Issac says and pulls a squeaking Willow to nestle against his side. Her hair smells like road dust and coal. He does his best to position her so her curls don’t suffocate him.

She’s tense and scared next to him for a long moment. “If you have to kill me...”

“Don’t.” Issac warns. “Just enjoy the next two weeks. We’re out of Twelve. That’s the important part. We’re going to a place that's going to seem like a fairy tale.”

“People die in fairy tales. Everything is a monster.” Willow murmurs.

Issac can not find fault with that logic and so does not respond for long moments. “I’ve died before. When the house burned. Issac Michael died and I was left here. So I can tell you for sure, dying? It's not so bad.”

Willow hurdles in silence. “No one will remember me.”

“Your family will. Abernathy will. The trick is to make the Capitol remember. Make them happy and sweet. They don’t like dark things or sad things. Tributes like that never get sponsor gifts. You have to make them like you. It's the only way.” Issac runs a comforting hand down Willow’s back. “You could talk about things you like. But don’t talk about family. I don’t think people in the Capitol have family.”

“They have to.” Willow argues.

“Bullshit. They are carved from fool’s gold and glitter. Crafted from the air as sprites. Joyful and unthinkingly vicious. Like haunts that drive their relatives to madness and fear.” Issac can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “They think that poseys can save them.”

Willow throws her hands over his mouth and Issac manages to reign his hysteria in. She looks at him with serious grey eyes and he looks back and wonders when she stopped crying, stopped seeking comfort and decided to comfort him instead. He finds he does not care as she settles back down with her head on his chest.

In the dark they are silent. Issac listens to the train move and then Willow’s breath as it evens out. He wonders if they will be in trouble if they are found this way. Peacekeeper Lynn never cared who crawled into whose bed as long as they did not have sex. She knew it was for comfort and warmth, the Home was never really warm in winter and it was hardly unusual for three or even six of them to end up huddled in the same bed.

Issac tries to remember if Willow has any siblings who she may have crawled in next too. He thinks that they may have been a brother, but that’s as far as the thought gets before sleep pulls him back under.

 

Breakfast is a strange affair. Abernathy drinks, Willow eats, and Julius files his nails. Issac watches the file and imagines shoving it through his hand, or maybe his eye. Taking Willow as the blood stains the carpet and just running. But the daydream ends with them starving in the wild. He does not even know how to light a fire, none-the-less do things like hunt or identify foliage. 

Then there’s all the kids back at the Home and Peacekeeper Lynn and Abernathy. All of district Twelve, really. What would the Capitol do if there were no tributes for this year. What would happen. He presses his head against the glass of the window and breaths out a long breath. “We’re ju’s a lesson, aren’t we?”

Willow’s reflection perks up. “Math club.”

“No.” Issac turns back with a severe look. “Nothing smart, Willow. Do something pretty or dumb or pretty dumb. You’re a girl. Capital is more than sexist. Nothing smart, got it.”

Her lip wobbles and Issac's body is moving without his permission, sitting next to her and gathering her up so she can tuck her head against him as she cries. At least this time she’s quiet about it.

Issac looks up to find Julius and Abernathy looking at him. He glares back, fuck’m. They obviously do not play the game well or one of them would be telling Willow what she needs to do to win. Or at least not die slowly and pitifully. She has a shot, a small one but a shot none-the-less. She’s seam and not so scrawny to suggest she’s never eaten poached meat. Chances are she knows a few more plants than Issac, not a hard feat, and probably knows how to light a fire. Can at least attempt it without freaking out.

“What are we supposed to do? I know about the parade and the interviews, everyone does. What should we expect outside that?” Issac does not mention sleepless nights and the fact that the TV at the Home is always on. Does not think about the last tribute that was good at math. It was not Wires, she did not mention anything like that in her interview, but a dumb kid that survived less than a day before eating something lethal and spasming out on live television.

“Remake center.” Julius’ voice rings out. “To get you ready for the parade. Then the next three days is training. Instructors will teach you all you need to know to survive in the games. Then the interview and then-”

“Happy Hunger Games.” Issac finishes. He snags a pastry and bites down on it.

Willow releases him with a disgusted noise. “You’re getting crumbs in my hair.”

“Then you should move.” He states.

She does not. They keep eating in silence and it's starting to get to Issac. The Home is never silent. People are awake, kids are crying, the TV is on, and someone is always running around on the second floor. Here there are only train noises and the oppressive knowledge that they will die.

But that knowledge is not new to Issac. It sure as shit should not be new to some seam girl who has enough free time for math club of all the stupid things. Though Issac thinks he went once or twice. To make up late work or something.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you?” He asks Willow.

Her eyes widen, “What?”

“I once puked down a Peacekeeper’s shirt. In the middle of the square. I think it's on a blooper reel for someone’s games.” Issac keeps his tone musing.

Willow is obviously not amused. “How is this helping?”

“It's not.” Issac cuts into a sausage. “But it’s not sitting here crying either. You,” He points his fork at her, “are a shitty kid from the seam. I’m a fucking orphan. This,” He gestures to Abernathy and Julius, “just means we die with thousands of people watching instead of alone, hacking up our lungs. Or trapped under a damn tree or-”

Willow slaps him.

Issac is struck dumb, staring at her back as she leaves the table. He turns back to his plate, staring at the mess he made of the sausage. “Why is she allowed to be mad?” He can not wrap his head around her anger.

Abernathy laughs.

Julius’ face darkens and he raises to go after her.

The knife slips from his hand the twangs into the wood of the wall, vibrating back and forth. “Let her alone.” Issac's voice surprised him. It’s tired when it should not be. “I’m the fucking problem here.”

He pushes up from the table in disgust. He thinks he sees Abernathy reach out for him when he passes by but he ignores it. Ignores the mummer of voices after him. He finds the shower in his room and strips off his reaping clothes before turning it on and standing under the spray. When he finally gets out, someone has left clothes out on the bed for him. He figures it must be Julius since the shirt is green, though thankfully the pants are black. He tugs them on and goes back out.

Willow is sitting watching the Capitol come into view wearing a pretty, soft grey dress. Issac walks up beside her. “I’m not good at apologies. Want me to braid your hair?”

She looks at him with a slight smile. “Sure.”

Issac stands behind her and carefully sets about doing her hair. Two long french braids down her back and as he does, he can not help but think that everything about Willow is soft. Her hair, her dress, her eyes and why did she get picked. Why her? Sure, Issac can not imagine her being much use in the mines and sure, it had to be somebody. But why did no one volunteer in Twelve? Step in for this soft girl who is far too young to be turned into a twisted little killer. Too small to do anything really. She should be safe somewhere, someone older going in with Issac like they do in One, Two, and Four. Someone who has no future except for the death of the games. Who would stand a damn chance.

They pull into the city and Willow waves at the people who stare at them as the train slows. Issac finishes her braids and holds her hand as they finally come to a stop.

Julius and Abernathy get off the train with them and Willow waves shyly to the cameras that greet them. The crew manning them look bored and Issac doesn’t have to wonder why, he’s never seen a clip of Twelve disembarking. They are not exciting and rarely make the top eight. Though twice since Abernathy is not the worse score out there. But Willow still flashes her dimples and swings their clasped hands.

Issac just tries his best to fight the urge to tug her behind him and not let them see her. Because she will need sponsors and to get them, she needs to be seen. So he twirls her and grins as she giggles. He does not meet anyone’s eyes when they separate them. 

The remake center is much worse than Issac thought it would be. It has people that scrub you everywhere. They also do something with lasers and steal away his scars. They take the sweat and filth from his hair and the coal dust from his nails. They tut at him like a misbehaving dog and hiss when he nearly takes someone's wig with him as they dunk him in the water. They also never shut up.

Issac does his best to retreat as much as possible from what's happening. He let's them twist and turn him. Run nails over his scalp and skin. He moves when they say and tries to breath through the manhandling. They give him shots and he realizes from an offhand comment about it making it so he can not ‘ruin the line of his costume’ that at least one of them will stop him getting aroused while in the arena. Which would explain why, in a show where a lot of teenagers run around high on adrenaline and fear no one does more than occasionally kiss.

Issac finds himself oddly grateful. He even thanks the prep person responsible for it.

They ruffle his hair like he’s a dog that just performed a trick and he goes back to ignoring them. The prep people’s job is to make him look good, not be any real use.

He takes back every semi-nice thought about them when he sees this year costume. “No.”

He repeats himself more clearly when the stylist insists.

“Please, no. Fuck no. Anything else. I’ll dress as a miner. I’ll go in naked!” Issac insists.

Willow, tiny little Willow next to him starts laughing.

“Please, sir. We’re going to look like shit. Not bad, but little feces. A pile of dug. Crap, if you will. For the love of the Capitol, no.” Issac pulls the... sheet? Contraption? Over Willow and billows it out. It's black and lumpy and it's obviously supposed to be a group outfit. It does not look like coal. It looks like what bears do in the woods. The fact that they were nice enough to give him tiny little briefs to wear under it while he squats down with his fellow tribute, because there is more than a foot of height difference between them, does not make it better. Furthermore, he could not be less seam colored if he tried. He’s blonde as hell and this is going to be awful. His hair is going to make it look like corn-shit.

“Just wear it.” Abernathy snaps.

Issac pulls himself up from where he was half-prone in his theatrics, Willow was laughing and not crying so fuck being poised, and crosses his arms. “Make me.”

If you had asked Issac last night if he was scared of a drunk, he would have laughed. But Abernathy walking over, arms loose at his sides to frown at him from less than four inches from his face, scared him. A little. Tiny bit, really. Then the man pulled out the big guns. “It will scare the girl if we have to.”

Issac flushed and nodded, just once before stepping back and rolling his eyes and then winking at Willow. “Into the shit heap with you then. I must say, you make this the best pile of crap I have ever been in. Being in deep shit is nearly easy with you at my side.” He says it in a sing song as the preps wrestle him into the outfit and, wow, getting into the carriage is going to be a pain.

He tries thinking about the problem right before ashes fill his lungs and nose and hair and there’s fire and-

“Issac! Issac, Look at me!”

The voice is loud but far away and everything is dark and then he hears a scream and Abernathy’s hands are on his face and knotting in his hair. The pain grounds him and his hands are trapped under the abomination of an outfit but Willow is clutching one hand and Abernathy has him. He leans into the older man and breathes out. He ducks his chin and shoves his nose into the crease by his neck because booze and sweat does not smell like ashes.

He finds himself counting again. Trying to match his breathing to Abernathy’s to stave off the shockwaves of the panic attack. “I don’t like ashes. I...”

“It’s part of the ensemble.” The Stylist screeches.

Only Abernathy’s firm hand cupping the back of his head and forcing him to hold position stops him from swearing at the man.

“You okay?”

“Does it matter?” 

They disentangle themselves and Willow holds his hand as Abernathy grabs the stylist and marches him off a short distance. When he comes back, both of them are obviously pissed. But the preps don’t douse them again, instead rubbing the ash and coal dust into their skin and hair. Issac stares straight ahead and pretends that everything is okay. He lets Willow hold his hand and bites his cheek till it bleeds.

When it's time to get in the carriage, Issac solves the problem of movement by having Willow wrap her arms around his neck and legs around his waist and carriers her up. When they get there, she doesn’t let go and, upon inspection, Issac realizes that you would barely be able to see her head if she did, so he braces his feet and hips against the carriage and holds onto her.

The stylist tries to interfere and Abernathy stops him. Though once the carriage starts moving, Issac wishes he had, because Willow may be small, but between the movement of the carriage, her weight, and not having a free hand to grab hold, Issac is quite convinced that they are both going to fall on their faces. But they don’t. He’s knees don’t buckle and by the time that President Snow has given his little speech and the carriages have filed back out, he’s nearly comfortable. All his muscles hurt and his hands are numb but it's no worse than what he’s dealt with in the past. Carrying smaller, shoeless children home from school during the winter is infinitely harder than this. Because it's not like he had shoes either.

“Not bad.” Abernathy greets them. Willow nods and Issac chooses that moment to almost drop her as he stumbles out of the carriage. Abernathy manages to catch them, barely, and the costume rips. 

Which leads to the stylists freaking out and nearly suffocating them to get them out. Issac holds onto Willow tighter until they are released. But then Willow wouldn’t let go. “Seriously, you might be little bit this is not my idea of a good time.”

“You carried me longer before.” Willow points out.

Issac grunts and tries to remember if Willow was ever one of the kids he helped home from school. She must have been, unless she’s thinking of someone else. Issac is hardly the only boy that takes the duty up in the winter. “Well, fine. Since Mr. Shithead here decided against giving us shoes, I’ll give you a piggyback up to the rooms. But first, you need to get down.”

She smiles beatifically up at him as she drops down. He grumbles under his breath but squats down so she can clamber up on his back. He merely raises an eyebrow at Abernathy’s frown.

Julius coos about it being sweet before leading the way. Issac follows and pointedly ignores the fact that he and Willow are still essentially in less than their underwear. The Home is too crowded to care about random people seeing you naked. He spots the cameras only after Willow tries to duck down to cover herself more.

He glares at them, but that only seems to make them track their progress more and Julius, the menace, leads them within a grabbing distance of them. Issac knows this for a fact because one of them touches his ribs and only having to hold onto Willow stops him from bolting. 

The elevator ride is its own kind of terror. Because everyone is suddenly much closer than before and the smell of ash much worse. He carriers Willow into the dining area of their floor and drops her down the moment Julius points out the direction of their rooms.

The attached shower takes a minute to figure out but once he’s got it, Issac crawls under the spray, selects the strongest smelling soap and starts scrubbing. He’s worn his skin red by the time Abernathy jerks him out from under the steaming water. “Stop trying to drown yourself.”

Issac jerks and shivers in his hold as Abernathy pulls a robe around him. He throws a towel at his head and Issac starts scrubbing his air dry. When he finally finishes and looks up, he sees Abernathy leaning against the wall, frowning at him.

“I... I’m sorry.” Issac drops his gaze and huddles in the robe. “I’ll get a hold on it.”

“You do that.” Abernathy said.

The room was silent for a long time. Issac found himself synching up his breath to the Abernathy’s own and did not fight the compulsion. He was in this man’s hands after all. The only chance he had was listening to every bit of advice this drunk had to give him.

He looked back up. “What now?”

“Now...” Abernathy seemed to fight with himself about something. “Now you go eat dinner. And no more moving the food around to make it seem like you’re eating. It won’t do you any favors later.”

“Yes, sir.” Issac agreed. He moved past him and down the hall.

Willow was sitting at the table with Julius. She seemed to be telling him a story that involved a lot of hand waving and giggling. Issac tried to wrap his head around this and the girl who had slapped him this morning or who had cried all through the reaping. Twelve year olds were weird.

“If it isn’t our woodcutter, Mr. Michael.” Julius greets, grinning ear to ear.

Issac frowns at Willow. “What are you doing?”

Julius waves her off before Willow can speak. “I just heard a story about what you do during the winter. The story about a certain pretty girl and your... pants?”

Issac feels his face heat. “Could have happened to anyone.”

He sits as far away as the table allows.

“What is this?” Abernathy asks as he takes the only open seat, across from Willow and between Issac and Julius.

“It seems last year, Our Mr. Michael here decided to cut some wood for a pretty girl he fancied.”

Willow looks suddenly mad, “I never said-!”

Julius waves her off again and talks over her. “And in the process, his pants split and managed to flash this poor girl’s mother.” He breaks into fluffing laughter.

Issac starts dumping food on his plate for something to do with his shaking hands.

Willow looks apologetic and Abernathy less than amused. “You should go home, Julius. I can handle the kids from here.”

Still laughing, Julius clambers to his feet. “Of course.” He winks at Issac, “He might need a bit of handling.”

After the door closes behind their escort, Willow bites out, “What a dickhead.”

Issac stares at her before helpless laughter seizes him. It's contagious before soon they are all laughing helplessly into their dinner. The night is almost pleasant after that.

As they are finally winding down and the table is just a clutter of empty bowls, Willow catches Issac's eye. “I never said you fancied her.”

“I know.” Issac shrugs. “It's not like that was the only house we cut firewood for. Just the only one I managed to flash anyone on.”

Willow giggles. “I think people saw more of you tonight anyway.”

Issac gives her a mock glare.

“Bed. Both of you. You have training tomorrow.” Abernathy breaks in.

“Yes, sir.” Issac says.

Willow echoes him a moment later. She snags his hand on the way to their rooms and doesn’t let go even when they reach the part where they need to separate and go their own ways.

“You go that way.” Issac point at the offending door.

Willow shakes her head, lip trembling. “Papa said to stay with you.”

Issac closes his eyes against the sudden pain in his chest. “Your dad saw you first?”

Willow shakes her head. “Momma did. He came last. After he saw you.”

Issac is overcome with the urge to hit something. He told that fucker he had no intention of dying for his brat. Yet he does this horseshit? But when he looks into Willow’s soft gray eyes he is forced to confront the knowledge that she is twelve and Twelve and he can not possibly do anything to make her feel worse. “Fine.”

She darts into his room and is already getting comfortable in his sheets when he turns off the light. He locates some sleep pants and then, like so many nights in the Home, he crawls into bed with someone else and falls asleep to their breath on his chest.

 

(/**)/

Breakfast the next day is silent. Issac knows that Abernathy knows that Willow did not sleep in her own room last night. He knows because he keeps looking at them. He keeps his gaze resolutely on his plate and eats whatever Willow puts there.

Willow, who seems either oblivious or the master at ignoring tense silences. She catches him looking at her and giggles like they have a secret. Issac rolls his eyes and stands up. The matching outfits they're wearing move with him and he can see how they might be good to work out in. Plus, they have their district numbers in all sorts of locations so no one has to learn each other's names.

Willow holds out her hand and Issac takes it to help her up from the table. She does not let go and after and Issac rolls his eyes. “Any advice, sir?”

“Keep’m guessing. Stay away from the fire starting station.” Abernethy orders.

Issac nods.

“I already know how to start fires.” Willow brags.

“Then that’s part of you keep’m guessing.” Issac teases.

They head down. An Avox, and how unbelievably easy it is to ignore them, leaves them at the door.

Willow and Issac are not the last tributes in, but it's close. Issac spots the career pack as they tease a boy that looks ten and is nearly in tears. Willow drags him over and opens her fat mouth before he can pull her back.

“Be nice! He’s trying.” She stands between the, much bigger, careers and the little boy with her hands on her hips.

Issac bites back a grin that quickly morphs to a scowl when one of the boys take a step toward her. “Save it for the Games.”

The boy smiles, cold and vicious. “What are you, their protector?”

Issac rolls his eyes. “No one likes a villain, One. I suggest you go pick someone a bit more well liked than a damn Twelve to play with. The story is hardly interesting if your archrival dies thirty seconds in.”

The Two boy grabs him back and mutters something in his ear. They move off and Issac is left to realize that they are at the damn fire station.

“I can help you with that.” Willow is offering to the boy.

Issac feels a headache coming on. “You do that, I’m going to go climb a wall or something.”

“There ain’t any climbing stations.” The boy, he’s from district 10, says.

Issac frowns and looks around. He stalks off, checking out each station as he makes several circuits around the room, but not stopping at any of them. He has a terrible feeling that edges near panic in his chest. There is the fire starting station, a plant identification one, ones for swimming, water purification, shelters, rope bridge making, first aid which seems to have a special emphasis on burns, and the rest are all weapons. He finally steps moving to frown at the floor. There is something niggling at the back of his head. He reexamines the swimming area and notices that there are flat stones in the water, set up in a random pattern, that he could potentially race across, if he did not screw up and fall on his face.

He goes back to where Willow is helping the boy from Ten. They’ve been joined by the girls from Eight and Six and the boy from Eleven. The boy is the oldest, probably nearly Issac’s age and lithe with obvious muscle. The girls are may be all of fourteen. Not the best alliance. Not that non-career districts form alliance of more than three people usually.

“Willow.” Issac says.

She looks up with a smile. “Issac, this is-”

“Ten, Eight, Six and Eleven.” Issac smirks. “I’m Twleve. Pleasure to met your mangy hides. Now I need to talk to-”

“Who put you in charge.” Eleven snaps.

Issac raises an eyebrow. “Her daddy.” He points at Willow. “Also, I don’t want to be in charge. I don’t even want her. But she won’t go away. So if she is planning on follow me around the Happy, happy funland we’re all gonna get to visit soon, she’ll move her ass over to either the plant station or go learn to use a weapon. I want you,” He casually shoves Eleven back a few paces, “Over at water purification. Since if you’re coming along I think a tree monkey would know what’s safe to eat already.”

He glares. “My name’s not Eleven.”

Issac gets as close as Abernathy got to him yesterday. “Yeah? Well you get your name back when you win. Not before.”

Eleven blinks first and stalks off. Willow has already vanished. Which leaves the little boy from Ten and the two girls from Six and Eight staring at him.

He stares back, more than a little at a loss.

“What should we do?” The Six girl asks. She looks determined.

“What can you do?” Issac asks them.

“I can sew.” Eight says.

“First aid station. Then go find one of the instructors to show you how a knife works.” Issac orders. He’s surprised when she goes without complaining, though she looks a little green.

“I’m thirteen.” Six argues.

Issac snorts. “Twelve is twelve.” He grins at his joke before sombering. “Look, I get it. It seems like there isn’t anything to be done. But there is. You can give a bad show, be miserable, and still go home in a casket. It won’t change anything if all you do is sit down and wait for someone to kill you. But I’ll say this now. You bring m’team down with this, ‘I’m thirteen’ nonsense and I’ll use you as career bait.”

Her eyes do not well with tears like Willow’s would have, instead they go hard and Issac gets a thrill of satisfaction. “Go play with some projectiles. Focus on trapts, yeah?”

She nods, face set and moves off.

The little boy from Ten is frowning at him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“These aren’t the nice games, kiddo. What can you do?” Issac repeats.

“I ride horses. I know how to gut out a lamb.” He looks uncertain.

“Go play with the rope station. Only bother with the weapons if you have time and don’t pick up anything bigger than you.” Issac offers him a smile. “I’ll try to be nicer, if you try your best, alright?”

The boy nods and scampers off.

Issac gives himself a full ten count to collect himself before he puts a sway in his hips and heads for the career pack. Singing, because he now has a vested interest in making an archrival. Because if two alliance this big both enter the arena and don’t have open hostilities from the get go, there will be mutt problems. One bear mutt and all those little kids are going to die or go catatonic. Neither one is going to help Issac.

“O’Danny boy, the hounds, the hounds are calling!” Issac rings out and swaggers up to the boy from One.

They are looking at him like he managed to sneak drugs in. He feels like he’s on drugs. “I feel like we got on the wrong foot, Danny-boy.”

“Name’s not Danny.” The boy from Two says.

The pair from Four are looking on with interest.

Issac ignores the girls. He is not picking a fight with a girl. No way will the camera forgive him if he does that. “My names not ‘District Twelve, Male’ but that’s what I’ll be on the lists. So, call me what you will.”

“I like muttfucker.” The girl from One says.

“You can be Lovely, then.” Issac offers with a wink.

“Done playing with the meat, then?” She’s eyeing him with something like interest.

Issac blinks, mind skittering sideways at the possibility. But it jerks back when One-boy opens his mouth.

“We’re not taking the damn pony with us.” 

There is silence.

Then Issac smiles. “The nice thing about being a muttfucking pony? No one back home is hoping I die. How many of your old friends are running the numbers on their chances next year if you die rather than living? How many of your classmates are pissed you got in?” He starts singing again as he turns on his heel and walks away. “The summer’s gone, and all the tributes they are dying. Tis you, ‘tis you must go and bury them.”

His feet have carried him to a station filled with spears. He picks one up and listens with an intent expression as the instructor tells him things that go straight through his head. His hands are shaking. He misses every throw he tries until lunch is called.

He’s the last into the cafeteria. His... His alliance are all sitting together. He joins them. Little girl Six is telling them where all the dishes come from. Ten is not eating and Issac finds himself smashing his soup up until it's more a brownish, squelching paste.

Willow glares. “Haymitch told you to eat.”

Issac scowls and steals the bread from her plate and shoves it into his mouth. That gets a giggle out of someone and a huff out of Willow. He winks over at Lovely, two tables down and she flicks her hair over her shoulder.

“You trying to get with the careers?” Eleven asks.

Issac blinks at him. “Jus’ making a narrative. We can’t beat them when they’re all together. But if they do what they do every other year, they’ll split off to hunt. How are traits coming along?”

Six blushes. “I’ve only managed to catch myself.”

Ten seems to rally a little. “I can help. We make traps for wild animals, back home.”

“I don’t want you two pairing off.” Issac shakes his head. “Ten, you should go with Eight and show her what you know. Willow goes with Eleven and focus on swimming and water plants. Six, you're with me for the rest of the day. We’ll do the rounds with weapons. Find something you can handle a bit better than rope. Tomorrow we’ll switch off until we’ve all gotten as much out of this as we can.”

Most of them are nodding. Eleven is not, but he’s keeping his opinions to himself for now. It will do.

The afternoon is filled with more and more inventive ways to keep Six angry. She’s better angry. Actually manages to get kill blows with a knife on a couple of the trainers as Issac watches and hurls suggestions and quips. Which ends with her tackling him and them rolling around on the floor as he tries to tickle her into compliance. The trainers separate them and she rolls her eyes and makes a rude gesture at him as he laughs.

He ends up at the spear station again. He manages to finally hit a target, mostly on accident. But pretends it's on purpose since Willow and Eight noticed. He bows to their cheers.

(/**)/

Dinner is filled with Willow’s chatter and Issac’s increasing guilt. He’s given her hope and he hates himself for it. But he eats, because having his mouth full keeps his lackluster responses less noticeable.

That and Julius did not take his eyes off him the entire meal. It makes him unaccountably nervous. An escort is hardly more dangerous than a room full of kids that he needs dead if he wants to go home.

And when did that happen? When did he decide that he gets to go home. There’s no point to that. No one is waiting on him. He does not have family left and one less mouth to feed at the Home is a good thing. Six has a mother that needs her. According to Willow’s anecdotes, Eleven has two brothers and a sister that need him back. Willow has a family.

No one needs him. Issac Michael may as well of died in the fire with his parents, for all the good it does him.

That night, he slips out of bed, replacing his body with a pillow that Willow clutches instead and makes his way back out. He’s less surprised than he should be that Abernathy is asleep on the couch.

He makes his way to the sink and turns on the tap, cupping one hand to drink.

“Willow keeping you up?”

Issac nearly jumps out of his skin. Abernathy is less than a foot from him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Would you keep me?”

Issac blinks, because he had not meant to say it that way. He had meant, would you pick me. Pick him over Willow, because if everything goes right, that might be the choice. Or it might be between him and Eleven or Eight or Six. Ten is least likely but still a possibility, though mixed gendered pairs tend to last longer. His hand goes to the token at his throat, thoughts wandering off to Peacekeeper Lynn and the look she got whenever she found him up with one of the younger kids.

Rough fingers tilt his chin up and Issac mets gray eyes, so much like Willow’s eyes. Seam eyes. Abernathy is frowning at him, mouth tense. “I’ll try.”

Issac nods. “If it comes down to it... I want formal alliances with the others. No one else though. Right now we’ve got three-and-three. I’d take an older girl but the only one not with the pack is Seven, and she seems a bit crazy about the axes. We don’t need someone that’s gonna run for the cornucopia. The Two’s will gut her.”

“Kid.” The word is tired and Issac sees something flicker in Abernathy’s face.

Issac grins, it's weak but he thinks if Abernathy tries to comfort him right now he will end up bawling the rest of the night. “I was raised by a peacekeeper, sir. I know how to follow orders when the time comes.”

Abernathy clasp his shoulder. “Go get some sleep, boy.”

Issac nods. His shoulder tingles all the way back to the room.

 

The next day is more of the same, only with Eight and shelters in the morning followed by trying to get her to stop looking terrified as he explains the weak points of the human body. He finally finds a damn sling to get her to use. She makes a better show than he does with the spears, at least.

Lunch is full of information exchange. Since this is the last day of training, Issac tries to pair himself up with Ten. But one look at the questions burning in Eleven’s eyes makes him reconsider. Ten is probably not going to do worse with Six than with him anyways.

They walk back into the training room and Eleven marches him over to weapons. “You can throw a spear, can’t you?”

Issac considers acting insulted until he realises what Eleven is actually asking. “No. I can’t. But I’m pretty nasty with a rod and I don’t imagine a knife is much different.”

Eleven stares at him for a long minute. “We get bandits. I know how to use a sling and build a trap. Not one for animals, either.”

“It won’t help if the arena kills us all off.” Issac points out. “Its why I think the Seven girl is a bit off. She’s thinking she can fight this and win. But if it was like that it’d be the gladiator games, not the Hunger games. We’ll need food and shelter, water too, if what’s common isn’t drinkable. That means other skills and, more important, sponsors. Groups pool those. If you stick with me and the little’uns, we can play up that angle. We can keep each other alive long enough for it to matter.”

“If it comes down to our alliance?” Eleven asks.

“We split up at the final eight. I think you and I both know that if we split, it's going to be you, me, and maybe a career at the end. If we split sooner, it will be like every other year. We’ll starve alone, go mad, or get lucky and the pack will make it quick.” Issac’s voice is oddly monotone.

Eleven scowls. “I don’t like you.”

Issac clutches his chest. “Well that hurts. I’m rather fond of you.”

They grin at each other.

“So, first aid?” Eleven offers.

Issac gives a little flourished bow, “After you.”

The One girl catches him looking again and raises an eyebrow. Issac blows her a kiss. The Boy from Four pretends to leap for it. The others range from disgusted to bored.

Dinner that night is more subdued. Willow is not talking much. Lots of false starts, but everytime she tries she looks over at Issac and falls silent again.

“What’s wrong?” Issac finally asks.

“Tereasa says you’re going to leave us!” Willow bursts out.

Issac racks his brain and comes up short. “Who?”

Willow rolls her eyes. “Eight.”

“Oh.” Issac pretends to consider this. “You tell her I can’t tell nettle from poison oak? Because I really need you guys so I don’t poison myself and die.”

Willow eyed him critically. “No. I told her you snore and it’s so loud the careers would find you and smother you just to get some sleep.”

Issac grins. “That true? Good for you. ‘Cause I’m not leaving you lot. Not until the final eight, at least.” He turns back to his meal.

“Why the final eight?” Willow asks.

“Because there are six of us right now and, providing no one screws up, we will make up most of the last third. After that the audience will get bored of the Willow-and-gang show and we will have mutt problems if we don’t cut our losses. Only one of us is coming home. Your papa would prefer it’s you.” Issac explains to his mashed potatoes.

There is silence. Then Willow offers up tentatively, “And who would prefer you?”

Issac swallows. “I’m an orphan, kiddo. No one is waiting on this face.”

“I can think of a few people.” Julius offers with a wink.

Issac, through temporary insanity, throws a soup dish at his head. They all stare in horror, sans Abernathy, at the green goop sliding down the man’s face. Abernathy is clutching his side as he laughs.

Julius rising with a furious glare. “I can hardly wait to tell your friends of your death, Mr. Michael.”

Issac salutes him with a roll. “It matches your color scheme at least.”

He leaves the room in a huff.

Issac turns back to Willow. “Don’t listen to him. Like you said, he’s a dickhead. It's the Willow-and-friends show, alright?”

Willow nods but she looks troubled. That night is the only time she doesn’t crawl into bed with him since the reaping. He tosses and turns before giving up and heading out. Abernathy is absent and so he flicks on the tv and changes it to a kids show about talking dogs before falling asleep.

He wakes up with a crick in his neck and a blanket overtop him. He carefully folds it up before heading for the showers. It’s individual sessions today and Issac is unaccountably nervous. He doesn’t know what he’s suppose to show them. Willow’s suggestion of throwing soup at them not counting.

Before he manages to pace a hole in the floor, Abernathy grabs him and tows him out to the balcony.

“I thought you weren’t going to scare the girl.” His tone is soft, despite the accusation.

“I know but, sir, what am I supposed to do? I have no real skills other than giving out false hope. I can hardly recite poetry at them or offer to change their kids diapers. I’ve never left the fence and Peacekeeper Lynn showed me some basic moves but nothing that’s going to impress anyone. I can hardly start a fire without panicking and-”

“Look at this from a different perspective.” Abernathy orders. He seems to want to say more but stops when Issac’s eyes widen.

Issac rocks back on his heels and grins. “I know what I’m going to do. It won’t get me a good score but it will work well with how I’ve played it so far.”

“Bad scores hurt sponsorship.” Abernathy warns.

Issac waves him off. “Eleven and Eight are going to score high. Ten might surprise us too. I just need to do something.” he waves a hand, “Something that amuses them a little.”

Abernathy looks concerned but does not stop Issac when he goes back in. Waiting in line for over four hours cools him off, but Issac does not let doubt cloud his mind.

When he walks in, the gamemakers are not paying attention, which is fine. He walks up and, when he’s only a foot from the stage, does a backflip.

Then he does another, but stops himself halfway through and just balances on his hands. When he finally catches more than one of them frowning at him, he offers a grin. “I’m looking at this from a new perspective. Y’all a lot different from this angle.”

One of them snorts a laugh and Issac lets himself fall the rest of the way. He picks up a spear and throws it at a dumbie. It scores straight past the head. He offers up a wave, “District Twelve, Male. Thank you for your time.”

That night, huddled on the couch with Willow, they watch the scores. The careers get the usual eights through ten. The seven girl gets an eight. Willow’s alliance all get fives and sixes, till Eleven who gets a nine. Then Issac gets a one. Willow gets a six.

She turns to stare at Issac in horror. “What did you do?”

“I looked at it from a new perspective. And our scores are six and one. That has to be a sign, right? Since it’s the sixty-first games.” Issac is still grinning. Inside he’s shocked, he’s never heard of anyone getting a one. But well, he did just stand on his hands for six minutes. They apparently have no respect for muscle control.

“Off to bed. Both of you.” Abernathy orders.

Issac can’t tell if he’s pissed off or disappointed. He more than likely just realised that he will be taking back the same coffins as every other year. Issac hates himself a little bit as he climbs into bed. Willow crawls in after him though, so he sleeps alright.

He barely sees Willow the next day. The morning is spent with Julius, going over walking and presentation. He keeps his tongue in cheek and hands to himself. He cannot say the same for the escort. But it's not to long before its time to switch.

Abernathy takes him into a side room and has him sit down. “The interview is when the audience gets their first taste of you. What’s your plan.”

Issac drums his fingers on his lap, careful to keep his posture correct. “I don’t know. I’m last and I doubt people want to hear about anything sad. They’ll ask about my score though, right? Should I make a joke about it or... what?”

Abernathy nods. “I’ve never heard of a score of one. But I’ve seen a four come out.”

Issac nods. “I’m last, that gives me an edge but I have to play it. Should I talk about the arena?”

Abernathy’s eyes narrow. “No one knows about the arena before the games start.”

Issac frowns. “But... The opening clips, the ones that they show before the reaping, they’re different every year. It's always the same message but they make the theme pretty clear. It's going to be water.”

“Water what? A swamp? Lots of rain? A beach?” Abernathy’s tone is goading. “Does not narrow it down.”

“I think you want me to hate you.” Issac accuses. “Why? I’m going to be good. I’m going to make Willow win! She has parents that lo-”

Abernathy’s hand is hard on the back of his neck as he reels Issac in until their foreheads are touching. “You listen here, kid. You live. You get that? You stay away from the cornucopia unless you have a wide opening, you keep your head, you keep your little group of misfits together, you do not allow that Eleven boy to stab you in the back, you stop flirting with the One girl, and I’ll do my damndest to keep you. Only if its just you and Willow left are you allowed to throw it away, you get me? Because that’s a damn order.”

Issac swallows, eyes wide and nods as Abernathy finally releases him. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Abernathy straightens his jacket. “Now, Caesar does not take sides and will do his best to help you out. But you have to keep your damn head. Tell me about your token.”

Issac hand shoots up to cover the smokey quartz. He has done his best not to think about it between turning it over and getting it back once it was cleared. “No.”

Abernathy raises an eyebrow. “No?”

Issac licks his lips. “Anything else. I’ll talk about my parents, the other kids, I’ll even talk about ripping my pants in front of Mrs. Garrison. I’m not talking about the token.”

Abernathy nods but does not press. “Tell me about your hobbies.”

Issac talks. He rambles. He tells stories and tries to keep any pity from his voice. He makes jokes, that mostly fall flat if Abernathy’s face is anything to go by. He mentions training a dog to salute anyone in a peacekeeper outfit. Abernathy finally admits that it's time to get ready. Issac nods and stands up.

“Don’t let them get a reaction out of you. The other kids, they’ll talk about you, don’t react. If you have to, smile or laugh at their jokes.” Aberthany advises.

Than the preps arrive and Issac does his best to blank out.

 

(/**)/

The One boy mentions his skill with knives. The One girl flirts. The Twos both show off muscles and too many teeth. The Three girl nearly cries. The Fours are all perfectly tanned and confident. The boy throws Issac a wink and he catches a reaction shot of his own embarrassed grin.

Issac could not tell you what the Fives do. The girl from six, the first in the alliance to go up, stutters at first until Caesar asks her what she likes best about the Capitol.

“Oh! I got to met Issac. He taught me about disarming people and four new swear words.” She stumbles and blushes. “I probably should not have said that.”

The audience laughs. Issac’s smile freezes. The hell is that girl doing?

“But it's true.” She insists, warming to the topic at the audience's reaction. “He’s been really trying hard to make sure we all know as much as possible. He’s not always nice to me,” she pouts. “He saves that for his sister.”

The audience coos and ahhs. Like they’re all reading cue cards.

It's a relief when the Six boy gets up on stage and talks about nothing more dangerous than his interest in trains and exoctic food.

The Sevens are both also helpfully bland and predictable. Than its Tereasa, no, Eight. It’s Eight’s turn and she set her wide green eyes on the audience. “Issac taught me a new song. Can I sing it?”

Caesar tells her to go right ahead. She sings Issac’s muttation of Danny-Boy to much applause and then talks about she is not scared of the arena because Issac has promised to watch after her till he can’t. Her lips wobbled pitifully at that and Issac grinds his teeth, uncaring how it looks as he’s caught in yet another reaction shot.

It's the Eight boy, than the nines. One of them joke they wish someone would talk about them. Issac coughs up a laugh but knows it's forced by how much it hurts to get out. The girl from Ten talks about her horse, who is apparently names Flicker. The Ten boy gets up and Issac braces himself then,

“Its Willow people should watch. Issac got a one. Willow, though, she’s nice and funny. You’ll see. She’s really good with a sling too. She reminds me of my older sister...” And the boy is off talking about safer topics.

Issac is thrilled that someone actually mentioned Willow. It will help her. A lot.

The Eleven girl is beautiful, but tries to talk like a career without the muscle to back it. 

The Eleven boy, who has pushed Issac at every turn, smiles. “I feel nearly obligated to talk about Issac.”

The audience laughs.

“No, really. Nice guy. The problem with nice guys is they are all talk.” Eleven spends the next three minutes assure that he, on the other hand, can deliver.

Then its Willow. Dear, soft Willow who gets on stage and talks about how pretty everything is.

Than Caesar asks who her brother is that Six mentioned.

“Issac is not my brother.” Willow laughs. “He probably did not even know my name till the reaping. See, Issac is like, everyone’s big brother back in Twleve. He just is.” Willow glances at him and sets her jaw before turning back to Caesar. “It’s cause he lost his family. So now he tries to be family to everyone else. He helps cut wood in the winter and he helps people home from school. He does thing like help with homework and grave digging, even if you never talked to him before. He sings to people when they get sad.”

She seems to run out of words and Issac is glad until she opens her mouth again.

“He’s everyone’s big brother. I always wished he was mine but,” She flutters her eyelashes and turns to the audience, “I guess I can share him with you guys.”

Again, they aw. Issac wants to punch something.

Once Willow gets off-stage, they call Issac up. His suit itches but he does not scratch. Instead he ducks his head and smiles shyly at everyone.

“Well, Issac, I feel like we already know you.” Caesar teases.

Issac blushes. “Ah. That. Willow’s a really great kid. They all are.” He falls silent and forces himself to noticeably fidget.

Caesar smiles, “About your score...” He trails off.

Issac looks down before glancing back up and gesture him closer, he leans in like they are sharing a secret. “Between you, me, the audience, and everyone watching back home... I get stage fright.”

He leans back quickly as if he’s embarrassed and Caesar chuckles. “I can not imagine a good looking kid like you is stared of attention.”

“Oh, I am.” He turns wide eyes back to Caesar. “It all started when I was small. I had a lovely soprano and I sang in the school choir. Then I got the flu. Barfed all over the poor kids in front of me. I was thankful when my voice broke. No one over the age of four wants a guy with my voice to sing anymore.”

Caesar switches tact. “Any plans for the arena?”

“Survive everyone by thirty to fifty years?” Issac quips.

Some of the audience laughs. Issac decides the rest are probably wondering at a game that lasts that long. “But seriously, no plan survives contact with the enemy. My plan is to keep my head.” He looks up at Abernathy. “I’ve been assured someone will be waiting for me if I make it back here.” He turns back to Caesar with a grin. “So, you could say I’m in this for the family I lost.”

The audience seems pacified if not very satisfied with his presentation. No doubt they were expecting more from him. He makes it all the way up to his suite, where he locks the door, and then climbs in the shower. After that he gives himself special permission to freak out. He snarks at the spray of water, “Any plans for the arena, future child murderer? Why yes, Caesar, I have to plan on how to possibly kill three little girls that all think I’m their older brother. Best case senario, the girl who called me a muttfucker gets there first.”

He laughs. Issac laughs and laughs.


	2. Here kitty-kitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten Arena scene. But hey! You get all of it at once.

The first thing Issac knows for sure about this year's arena, comes from the uniform. They are light. Long sleeved khaki shirts; heavy, white canvas pants; sturdy boots in light grey; and a jacket that’s made of some strange material which he’s pretty sure is waterproof but seems more to handle wind. If anything in the arena drops below tepid, they will be in trouble. So it will be hot, or at worst, cool. Lighting fires should only be needed for cooking food.

The uniform also includes gloves. Issac does not like this fact in the least because he can not remember a former year that included gloves.

The second thing that Issac knows about the arena is that it's ugly. It actually takes it a moment to sink in. The area around the golden cornucopia is flat, gray rock.

The countdown starts.

To his left is a flat plain for quite a ways, with towering grass swaying in the breeze.

The countdown hits 45.

To the right is what appears to be tall spires and juts of rock. They form fantastic shapes in the shimmering heat.

The countdown is at 30.

Directly behind him and cutting him off from all of that, is a river strewn with rocks. The rocks are shining and caked in lime.

The countdown hits 15.

Past the cornucopia is a sheer cliff and the cry of gulls.

The countdown hits 5-

He spots the gleam of a spear not five feet from where he is standing and knows the game-makers are making fun of him.

The buzzer sounds.

Issac picks up the spear. Its too tall for him but he carries it as he makes toward the cornacupia. The end snags in the dirt as he glances over to the boy from Three. Issac stumbles. The boy turns on instinct to help him. Manners are sometimes hard to forget.

The tip of the spear slides under his collarbone and catches on his jaw. Issac’s hand tightens on the shaft out of shock and they both go down hard. The boy’s blood is everywhere. Rushing out of the gash and Issac panics as it rushes out to coat his face. He burries his head under the boy’s arm and feels the blood spread along his back and side. He’s frozen, shock and disgust turning his muscles to usless mush.

He can not even summon the strength to panic when another tribute walks less then a foot from him. He closes his eyes and wills his mind not to process this, to let it slip away like another lesson on the chemical compound of coal.

It seems like days and days as the heat soaks through his clothes and flies land in the blood drying on his back and in his hair, the Career pack picks a direction and heads out. Issac gives a little prayer of thanks that they went right and not left. Willow will be hard enough to find without avoiding everything that moves.

When he is sure they are gone, Issac forces cramping muscles to move and makes his way stiffly to what is left in the cornucopia. He does not look at the coolling corpses around him. There is not much left. Some knifes, an empty and dented canteen, and a baton.

Issac actually stares at it for longer than he should but it does not go away. It's a peacekeeper’s baton, but black instead of white. He picks it up and slides it into his belt before taking his haul and walking swiftly away. At the edge of the river he smells something like rotten eggs.

A girl is bobbing in the water and, as Issac watches, the current forces her face upward. Her skin is a riot of red and blisters. Her lips etched in a snarl of pain.

Issac’s stomach rolls and he flinches back. He forces his gaze to the breaks in the tall grass on the other side, where he believes he’ll find the alliance. It was Willow’s idea to go left of the cornucopia. Since they would have no guarantee of any other type of marker.

Issac is forced to look down to find the stones so he can cross the river that boils faintly under his feet. He nearly falls in twice as the girl’s body floats closer.

When he gets to the grass, he moves steadily through it till something bites his hand. He stares at in, uncomprehending as blood wells across the join of his thumb where the glove has been cut away. He stares at the grass before it hits him. It’s the problem.

He shifts around to carefully enter the grass along the path the others took. They are far too easy to track. The grass they’ve moved through is bent and broken. Some of the stalks have drying lines of blood. He finally gets the hang of gently moving the grass away with his hips or shoulder. It’s shredding his jacket but it saves his hands.

After about an hour, Issac grows bored enough that he starts picking up the broken blades and weaving them carefully together. It’s sufficiently tricky work to do it without splitting open his hands that he manages to pass the day like this. Making the rope longer and longer and remembering how they did this back home out of bits of grass or cloth. Making rope. Each blade folding into the pattern and bound by the longer and shorter grass.

It’s not until he hears the beginning of the Parade of the Fallen that Issac stops and looks up. The potriats are all from the training center. There are six all together. Six people dead at the coracopia and District Three and Ten manage to lose both tributes. Issac stares for a long time up at the sky where the little boy from Ten was.

With a clench of his teeth, he turns his head away. There is no mourning in the arena. He knew the pipsqueak for less than half a week. His death is just something to be put away as quickly as possible. He will take it out later to think of but not yet.

There is a muffled sob ahead of him. Issac half crouches, careful in the grass around him and moves the spear to his hand. He parts the grass carefully and catches a flash of blonde hair and wide eyes before the other tribute tries to run.

Issac dares not call out and he can not say the option even is considered before he’s reaching out to stop them.

Their hand strikes out to shove the spear tip into the dirt. Issac leans into it and snaps his hand over where he imagines their mouth should be. In case they decide to scream for help. But they stumble as they turn to face him.

Both Issac and the tribute in the dark fall heavily to the dirt. Issac’s knees thud into the ground and he drops the spear before it makes it worse. His empty hand is already flying out to catch his fall. Issac’s hand lands around the fluttering skin of a throat. Liquid, warm and and steady pulses out around his fingers and Issac stares into the ivy green eyes of the female tribute. The rope he held in his hand has slit her throat as it moved across it, his fall shoving it into the flesh and blood vessels and artiries underneath. She looks up to in fear.

He finds himself taking her hand as she thrashing against the ground weakly. He releases her throat but knows it is far to late for apologies. She claws at the wound but Issac snags her other hand and holds on.

Blood smells like copper and salt. There are tears in her bright eyes and Issac stares into them long after her movements stop and the cannon sounds. Issac stays with her all night. He does not speak, but keeps vigile for the little girl he did not want to help. The little girl he would never have chosen to save anyway.

When the light finally starts breaks on the horizon, Issac has officially had it with blood. After taking what he can from the dead, without stripping her naked, he is not that desperate yet, he looks up at the artificial sky. He spots the scorpion, faint but some of the only stars still visible and remembers his father telling him about it. How the scorpion was sent to kill the hunter Orion because of Apollo’s jealousy of his sister having a friend. How, after hanging the Hunter’s image in the sky as an apology, he hung the Scorpion's image as a warning.

Issac wonders if the gamemakers know the story or if they just choose a random piece of sky. But if they do, are they warning Issac? Or encouraging him?

Issac raises from his crouch by the body, half asleep as he hangs onto the spear, until he hears the a group up ahead move off in the morning. He makes his way to their campsite. The hovercraft finally comes when he’s far enough off to collect the body.

He finds a piece of braided grass by the doused fire. He sits by it and strokes a hand over it, imagining Willow braiding it to stay awake and keep watch. Its when he finally notices that, while doubling up his gloves saved most of his hand, the razor grass bunched and tied about his fist is soaked with blood. He carefully works it all loose and examines what he can of his arms. They are cut and scratched but nothing looks deep or infected, yet. And that’s the big problem. The river behind him is either boiling hot or just straight acid, the grass around him is dry and sharp and, going by the firepit, great wood replacement. He has water, but not enough to clean with. If he stays the way he is, he’ll catch some infection and die like a damn idiot.

He lies down and looks up at the sky hopefully. But after dozing for most of the morning, realises that Abernathy either cannot or will not help him right now. Right.

He thinks about what he’s seen of the arena so far. He should go catch-up with Willow. But there’s still sixteen tributes running around and he’s nearly positive that she’s with the Six girl and Eleven Boy. She’ll be fine until the field narrows a lot more.

He makes his decision and heads off. Braiding more grass, not that he can use it without gloves. But maybe its better if it takes his hand this time along with someone’s life.

\-----------

Issac hits the cliff edge as the sun is high in the sky. He crouches in the grass, far enough back that he will not be too easy to detect and tries to think past the fog in his brain. 

He stops trying to think rather abrupty. He thought he heard voices. Its not long before two girls come into view along the edge of the grass, though they seem to be staying as far from it as the edge of the cliff will let them.

Issac can’t remember which district these girls are from. Not One, Two, or Four. Maybe one is from Seven. But they’re carrying packs and seem to be arguing about the drop.

“One, its too far and two the drop is ridiculous.” One says.

“If we don’t, someone else will kill us.” The other points out.

Issac rolls his eyes as they continue to bicker. He tries to decide the best way to take them down and his stomach cramps. He pushes the thought away and decides to wait. They have supplies that Issac needs but its possible that he could convince them to share without anyone dying. He follows them.

It takes nearly two days before anything more interesting happening than Issac deciding that they are clearly dumb. The cameras will not have been on them at all because they have taken to talking about how unfair the games are.

He wants to scream at them that the world is not fair. But then, on the third day in the arena, he spots Eleven, Six and Willow just before the girls do.

“We let you go, you let us go.” Someone with less than half a brain offers. Issac can not tell who because the angles are all wrong. The two groups both seem tense though and no one is obviously armed. He thinks he might see a club but that’s it.

Issac lays the razor grass rope carefully on the ground and palms a knife. It’s not weighted well for throwing but it will do in a scuffle. He can not take the risk of killing Willow if he has to grab her in a hurry.

It’s Eleven that speaks up next. “Deal. We’ll pass nice and slow, you guys toward the grass, us by the cliff.”

Issac freezes as he feels fur along his side. He barely breaths as his eyes shift to the side to see a giant fucking cat crouched beside him. It’s yellow eyes trained on the other tributes. His eyes flick back toward his targets, if the muttation was after him, he’d already be dead. He will not turn his back on it, but it's clear the gamemakers do not agree with this peaceful horseshit the two groups are trying to pull. Issac may have the opprotunity to choose who has to die, if he is very lucky.

The group's edge around each other carefully. Issac does not bother waiting till the second girl. He grabs the first ankle in reach and is gratified when the owner goes down with a squeal.

The cat leaps over her and goes straight for one of the others. Issac does not know which dies by his hand and which the muttation kills. But when they are on the ground, the cat whirls around for another target.

Issac crouches in front of it and hisses.

The cat seems to grin. It’s tawny fur gleaming in the sunlight. Blood dripping from its mouth.

Issac grins back. “Pretty kitty, pretty kitty, I wonder where you are. Where are you going? Can I come if it's not too far?” He laughs. The blade of his knife is mere inches from the cats throat and any sudden movement will drive it into the beast’s neck.

But muttations rarely kill more than one tribute at a time. The cat flicks its tail and pivots with a leap back into the grass. Issac takes two steps after it before something hits his back and he turns, spear extended.

“Hey brother, you’re late.” Willow accuses,hands on her hips and gray eyes so soft.

Willow and Six will not go near him, but Eleven helps search the bodies for supplies and helps him find his rope before the trio lead Issac off a ways. Issac watches the hovercraft takes the bodies away with a frown.

“Why do you think they take them so early?” Issac asks. “Would it not be more terrifying if we kept stumbling over them?”

“It's so that if the games go on a long time, our families arn’t getting back half composted flesh. Now hold still.” Eleven says. He scrubs at the blood on Issac’s face.

Six finally gets within touching distance to offer a bit of cloth. “Use this.”

Eleven takes it without comment and gets some of their water on it before going back to scrubbing Issac’s face. “You’ve always been this crazy?”

“I’m following the rules.” Issac keeps his voice steady with some effort. “That cat would have gone after all of us if I didn’t. You guys can’t keep taking short cuts. No one likes a rule breaker.”

“You always do what people tell you too?” Eleven asks snidely.

“Yes.” Willow’s and Issac’s voices overlap and they laugh.

“How many?” Willow asks.

Issac does not pretend to misunderstand. “If we count those two? I’m at four.”

The rest of the day is dull. Eleven keeps himself between Issac and the girls as they walk. He tries to play it off as Issac protecting them from further grass cats, but Issac knows better. Issac also knows that this is the way the game is played. If he can play it till nearly the end, if he convinces everyone he is playing and playing the way they want and expect him to, he might be able to send Willow home.

They hit the river just as night is falling. The Parade of the Fallen is only the two girls that Issac has had a hand in killing. He finds himself wondering what the boys in the career pack are thinking. Because their can not be many girls left. It's day three and they are down to fourteen tributes. If the pack is still together, that makes only four people wandering alone or possibly together.

Issac rolls over in his ‘sleep’. Sleep will not find him and the other three will not let him take watch. Again, lying about the reason why. But every time he closes his eyes the hidey holes in his head try to release the things he is not thinking about to weave dreams out of them.

Issac turns his face to the sky and looks at the scorpion with a grimace. It's clear the gamemakers, at least, approve of him. Even if his own mind does not.

They move back to wondering aimlessly in the grass. Issac tries not talk but words will not come. He imagines fear on their faces and blood across their necks whenever he tries.

It's the early light on the fifth day that there is a cannon. Issac thinks it's the fifth day, at any rate. It might be the eighth. But he knows that cannon means that they are down to thirteen tributes. Not close enough to the final eight. Not with their supplies. He stops pretending to sleep and stands up to move next the Eleven in the uneven hole they crawled into. He sits so his back is resting against the other boy’s back. He feels him tense and rolls his eyes.

“That’s eleven dead.” Issac’s voice is oddly hoarse. He can’t remember the last time he spoke. “Stay with the girls. I’m going to go shopping.”

“Is that what you call looting the dead.” Eleven’s voice shakes.

Issac laughs. “Don’t be dumb. We’re being boring. The girls are too young for sex appeal and you and I don’t trust each other enough to make out. It's no wonder no one is sending gifts. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be out of supplies by day after tomorrow.”

“How do we know it's you coming back?” Eleven asks.

“I’ll howl. No reason to think there are wolves in here, right?” Issac teases.

Eleven sighs. “Let me do it.”

“Can you?” Issac asks.

Eleven is silent. “I’ll have to, right?”

Issac gives himself a moment to think. Giving Eleven a kill would bring him closer to getting into the final four. It would cut down on possible mutt attacks. Giving Eleven a kill would not get Willow closer to the end though. Eleven is also just as likely to die and force Issac to guard the girls and try to hunt at the same time. It's a no-win scenario.

“Keep our current heading. If we stop circling in the grass and hit the damn spires by midday I’ll let you go tomorrow.” Issac takes a breath. “But I’ll go tonight. There’s no reason to split the group with at least five, more than likely all six careers still out there. When we whittle it down to two, we’ll split up.”

“I thought you said final eight.” Eleven argues.

Issac snorts. “They only mutt I’ve seen was on my side. You’ll forgive me for thinking it's still a good idea not to split up.”

Eleven still does not like it, but Issac is tired of arguing and picks of his rope before striding away. He has things to do and people to see.

Issac wanders alone for a long while. The fog in his brain has gotten worse and time seems an even more fickle thing away from the group. Pretty soon Issac decides his mouth tastes like ass. He is not one hundred percent certain on what ass tastes like, but he feels like his assessment is accurate. He has finally hit the scrubland between the grass and the spires. There are snakes here and rabbits. But almost no cover. He quickly decides he hates it.

There’s a pipping noise from the air and Issac shades his eyes to watch a silver parachute land in the dirt several meters distant. Either someone’s aim was off, or he is not nearly alone enough.

He freezes and slowly drops to the ground. Listening and waiting for the noise of someone else. A snake with diamond pattern scales is coiled inches from his face. They stare at each other before the snake curls back up. Issac wonders why the game makers like him so much.

If he knew, he could do more of it.

There’s finally some movement up ahead. Two careers, he thinks it's the One boy and the Two girl, head for the parachute.

Issac thinks about how dangerous snakes really are and how much he does not want to stumble into one and die midfight of posision. He carefully hovers a hand over the snakes body before striking out to grab the dangerous end. The snake’s head flexes and its tail and body jerk and writhe as it tries to get away or strike. Issac ignores it beyond ensuring he has a decent grasp as he waits for one of the careers to get closer.

Its the boy that wanders over and spots him. He opens his mouth to call out and Issac stumbles up enough to throw the snake. It hits him directly in the face and the kid catches it out of reflex. Issac rolls in a slight indent as he watches the boy howl and flail as he falls. His face and arms swelling as the snake strikes him over and over.

Issac feels like he’s full of ice as he waits. The sun beats down on his back, the ground is hot beneath his palms and all he feels is ice and chill. He watches the girl move and pace around her dying companion, waiting for her to spot him. He left the rope several meters to far to reach.

It had seemed like a good idea to move after throwing the snake but now Issac is kind of regretting it.

The girl, who probably is a Two considering the weight and height she has on Issac, turns back to her ally. Issac thinks for one insane second that she has a way to help him. Then he sees her sword.

It's not really a conscious decision. He just sees the cat in his head and he’s leaping without really giving it much thought. He grabs her throat from behind and hangs on.

He finds himself back with Peacekeeper Lynn as she explains first aid. How if you cut off blood flow to the brain, anyone will passout in about ten seconds, no matter their size. Her hands on his throat as she showed them all exactly where to press.

Issac comes back to himself when his opponent falls face first into the ground. He tastes dirt in his mouth and hangs on for several more moments before realising that he’s already heard the cannon. He rolls off her and grabs her sword from the ground before slitting her throat and moving over to the boy and doing the same. Another cannon sounds and the relief Issac feels is profound.

He touches the snake’s bloody head. “Sorry buddy. I guess you got the short end of the deal there.”

He pulls himself away, staggering as sweat sticks his clothes to his side. He starts searching the bodies, finding mostly weapons that he has no idea how to use and water. There is not much food and he figures the careers have a semi-permanent camp set up somewhere. He makes sure any weapon he leaves it firmly attached to the body so it will be taken away in the hovercraft. 

When he’s done he pockets the compass someone sent and staggers away.

It's not before the hovercrafts have vanished and there’s another pipping sound that Issac considers how much time might have past. He stares at the parachute that’s landed directly at his feet. He opens it and finds healing ointment and realises it’s not sweat dripping down his right side.

He stares up at the sky. “Alrighty then.”

Issac curls the arm on his wounded side around the spear and braces it against the ground. He keeps the small tub of ointment in that hand. He takes a knife from his waist and cuts of his shirt and jacket. Between the blood and damage done in the grass, neither one is savagable, and he does not fancy the amount of damage he may cause trying to remove them any other way.

Luckily, the knife is sharp and the shirt and jacket already fairly damaged. They tear away with little difficulty. Issac gives himself a moment to breath before starting to treat his wounds. There does not seem to be much foriegn matter in the wound. It’s roughly two inches long, not very wide, but it looks deep. He sucks his cheek between his teeth on the right side before taking a deep breath in through his nose. He presses hard along the sides of the cut, forcing the blood to flow quick and pure from the opening until he’s sure that there is not anything still lodged in his side.

He spreads the ointment on with shaking hands and takes the cleanest fabric he can find and lays in over the wound. He wraps the remains of his jacket over that, tightening the entire ensable around his waist.

Then turns his head to spit. The saliva is red with blood from his cheek. He stares at it for long time as it slowly drys on the barren rock and sand.

Issac knows he needs to move. Needs to go... somewhere. But he can’t remember where. He thumbs the compass in his pocket and tries to decide if going back to the group would be better than going forward. Back or forth. Back or forth.

He pulls out the compass and looks at it. It does not point north. Instead it has a tiny cornucopia on one side that the tiny instructions on back says it points to. So, unless the careers are suppose to go there, it's clearly a sign that they should not? 

He scratches his scalp. What he needs is a damn bath. He’s nearly ready to risk the acid water at this point. He points his feet toward the spires and heads off. Standing in the heat will do him no favors.

Issac seems to drift. The sun goes down and he thinks he sees the giant cat pacing beside him, carrying that damn snake. He feels the Three boy’s blood drip down his hair and neck. He hears the Two girl’s breath leave her in gasps and hisses. He sees the green of another girl’s, he can not even recall which ones, in the indent in the dirt. He keeps moving.

When the night is at its darkest, he looks at Scorpio's tail and thinks about what it must be like to be crafted by a god for nothing more than revenge. To serve no other purpose but to kill and then be killed and thrown into the sky as a warning and promise. Scorpio was a tribute, Issac decides in a haze.

He reached the spirals of rock without fully noticing. They seem to range from one to two meters in height with no clear handholds or any real reason why you would try to climb one. He loops the razor grass rope at ankle height through and around several columns before finding a promising spot. He rolls in the dirt and silt until he is fairly well covered and sleeps.

He awakens, far too soon, to the sound of a cannon. It's still dark and he muzzily wonders how long he has slept. He rolls to his side and is struggling to his feet, using the spear as a crutch when a figure appears across from him between two columns. 

They are oddly beautiful. A deadly silhouette and Issac wonders if Orion will kill Scorpio tonight after all. They raise a spear and take a running step to throw.

The spear skitters wide as the razor grass is pulled taunt about the figures’ feet. They fall to their knees with a harsh cry that is cut off with a garble as Issac punches a knife through their throat.

Its all over in moments and Issac stands, the cannon echoing in his ears, panting as blood pools at his feet. He couches down and starts going over the body. He stays long enough to grab up his spear and steal everything even vaguely of value before staggering off into the shadows. 

He doesn’t know how far he gets before he crawls into a ball and shoves his fist into his mouth. Biting down to stop the screams that want to claw their way from his throat.

He does not known when or if he sleeps. He merely digs himself further into the dirt when the heat comes and only crawls out when it cools once more. He finds water and strips all his clothes off to bathe. He’s careful of the wound at his side, but the ointment has done its work well and it is little more than a wide, pink line. He smears more of the gunk on it but lets it breath. He slips back into his pants and boots after using the tatters of the rest of his clothes to dry off. He figures he’ll use a body to dispose of the scraps the next time he has the opportunity. For now he eats and drinks and pretends the teeth marks on his knuckles are just another battle wound.

He does not know what to feel. So he feels nothing.

He thinks he may be heard cannons somewhere along the way but he can’t remember. He hears them whenever he closes his eyes. He sees their faces. 

Then he sees Willow’s soft gray eyes.

But then he blinks and the eyes are brown and crying. “Wake up, Issac. C'mon brother. Wake up.”

“Six?” Issac asks. He looks around hopefully. “Where’s Willow at?”

Six cries even harder.

It takes Six most of a day to get Issac to understand what happened. But through the fog in his brain he decides it really only boils down to this. Willow and Eleven are dead and District Four Male did it. Issac cannot decide if this should upset him. Some voice is whispering that he cannot cry or carry-on so he allows the fog to whisk the thoughts and feeling away.

If Six is right, they are down to six. Issac smiles at the mental repetition and Six smiles back, uncertain.

Issac ignores her. He is not cruel. He has no reason to be cruel yet. She’s just a kid and she wants someone to protect her, that’s all. He will eventually have to do somwthing with her. He knows this but everytime he tries to hold the thought it turns into ‘Not yet.’

He sets off in the direction that will take him to the section off the far right of the cornucopia. He has not been there yet and figures he may as well see everything there is to see here. The gamemakers spent a long time on all of this. It would be a shame to leave it to waste.

They run across the skinny boy from Five.

Issac grabs him up into a strangle hold and does not letting go until the cannon sounds. Simple, effective and Issac lets the body, so small, crumble to the ground. When he looks up though, Six has vanished.

Issac does not fully comprehend why. The fog in his brain is saying that this is what the world is. Kill or be killed and nothing else. Some part of him recognizes that this brown eyed girl is important. He hears another cannon and his heart suddenly jumps into double time.

Cannons mean someone is dead. He knows that Willow is dead... is she? Or was Six lying? Did Issac kill her? Did he shove a snake into her face or a spear into her side? Cannons are usually caused by something happening near him. He can not make himself remember. 

So he does not.

He crouches low and looks for anything that would show where the little girl went. He moves slowly but deliberately. He does not see a hovercraft. So it's either not Six or he’s too close for them to collect her.

The parachute pips at Issac when it falls. He fades quickly into the shadows and looks at it suspiciously. He sees movement off to the side. He slips around a column and by another one. But something gives him away because the girl from One is turning and lashing out before he reaches her.

Issac blocks the first and second strikes with the baton. He elbows her in the face but before he can follow through on her stumble, One is flicking a second blade at him. Issac dances out of the way.

They stare at each other across two feet of space.

One licks her bloodied teeth.

Issac drops down and charges.

It's a stupid move. Which is exactly why it works.

One is used to people who are trained. Not some kid who is used to fighting with a constantly fluctuating group of brothers and sisters in an orphanage.

His shoulder hits her in the stenum. Her blades dance across his back before she hits one of the columns.

Issac punches and hits her until the daggers fall to the ground. Then a few more times for good measure. He does not think to draw a dagger from his waist. He just presses the baton under her chin and shoves with both hands until the flesh of her neck folds in and the stench of piss fill the air.

The cannon sounds. He lets her go.

Issac staggers to the parachute and pulls out a vial of glitter. He starts laughing. He cannot remember why but gray eyes flash before his vision. Willow? Does this have something to do with her?

Issac finds the edge of the spires as the sun is just dipping under the horizon. He sets up camp and while he's careful about discovery, he no longer is careful about keeping all his things together. There is one or two tributes left. Somehow he knows that tomorrow, by mid-day, they will all be thrown together.

So he goes through all his things. He allows himself to eat and drink his fill. He chooses his weapons and cleans his clothes. He ties the tiny bottle of glitter next to his token. He washes his bare chest, arms, and face. 

He will leave this place tomorrow on a hovercraft and never have to come back. Whether it's with him breathing or not is the only question left.

He falls asleep with Scorpio hanging above him.

\---------

Issac wakes with the sun and gets up. He dresses himself while humming under his breath an old song about mines and pretty girls and jewels. He looks around hopefully and sees nothing but the marsh on one side and the spires of rock on the other. He looks at the compass but it just shows him the way to the cornacupia. He looks at the sky.

Then he hears purring of all things.

He looks over, drawing his knife and bracing the spear against the ground. The cat-mutt is crouched on top of one of the flatter spires. Issac snarls at it and braces the spear a bit more. It’s not a pike, but it will have to do in a pinch.

“Hey pretty kitty, you come to show me where the others are?” Issac asks the cat muttation. It would be an unbelievable event, but there was a boy five years ago that befriended a dog muttation. It killed him eventually, but Issac still figures it was because they’d hit final four and the little idiot was still playing fetch with zero kills.

The cat lets out a chuff and jumps down and starts walking off. When it glances briefly over its shoulder, Issac is already following after.

They walk like that for most of the day. Issac eats and drinks and keeps the tip of his spear between him and the cat. He knows they are getting close when the first storm of the games rolls in. After so long in the arena with no notable weather, this many black clouds boiling in from nowhere is a sure sign of final showdown mood lighting.

Heat lightning laces the sky. Thunder seems to shake his very bones as the storm builds. Light dances from the sky, striking earth and bringing the hairs on Issac’s body to stand on end. The smell of flames light the air and Issac pauses to wet a cloth and tie it over his nose and mouth as the grassland ahead turns into a riot of orange flame and heavy black smoke. He breaths carefully as he pauses forty meters from the flames.

The cat has crouched down low and it's tail and hind feet are wiggling in anticipation.

A boy staggers out. Thin and frail in a way that Issac sees only in the poorest of the seam kids. His clothes hang off his frame and he seems too scared to be a threat.

The cat runs and leaps. They both actually fly back into the fire before hitting the ground.

A cannon sounds and Issac turns at the sound of a gasp to face the boy from Four.

There is an impossible and ridiculous moment where it actual occurs to some part of Issac’s fog filled mind that the boy is just too pretty still to kill. Then Four boy pulls the two pronged spear from his back. Issac drops the spear and pulls the baton and a knife from his belt. 

They circle each other slowly. Four feints at Issac a few times. Issac merely steps back a bit and forces the other boy to change direction. The fire burns fierce and black smoke is filling the sky. The smell of soot and ozone is choking Issac’s lungs and his eyes water. Four is in worst shape there, at least. Since he did not have time to cover his mouth and nose.

But he’s also still wearing a jacket, so Issac is not sure how much of an equiptment advantage either one of them have. There is also a lot less of a size difference here than with any of Issac’s other fights. With Issac’s currently tanned skin, one might mistake the two of them for brothers.

Peacekeeper Lynn’s voice fills Issac’s head, beretting him in gentle tones for stalling. He killed Willow, he killed Eleven, he no more deserves to walk out of here than Issac does. Issac is not this boy’s big brother. He flips a knife at him just as his foot twists in a hole in the dirt.

The knife goes wide at Four lunges. His full weight behind the move.

The pain races up Issac’s leg from his ankle is swiftly elipsed as the spear’s crossguard slams against his shoulder. There’s a sickening crack and the entire arm burst into liquid pain. The baton drops from Issac’s limp fingers and his back hits the dirt. Issac screams and snarls, punching at the boy on top of him with his still mobile arm.

Four scrambles for something at his belt and Issac takes the opprotunity to brace his legs and heave the other boy off him into a roll.

Four’s back his the earth and Issac shoves himself away as the spear leaves bloody grooves along his chest and collarbones. He tries to stagger to his feet only to howl once more as Four’s knife tears into his calf.

Issac turns the stagger into a turn just in time for Four to pin him back to the earth with that muttfucking spear. Only this time it wretches its way through skin and muscle to inpact the earth on the other side of him.

Four’s knees impact the ground and the spear jerks.

Issac snarls out a silent cry. This is the end. There is blood soaking his chest and pain everywhere. His shoulder feels like someone is just hacking through it.

The cannon sounds.

Issac looks up into Four’s glossy eyes and wonders why everyone lied to him. Death should not hurt this much. It is suppose to be freeing. Peaceful. The release of long sleep after the longest of days. But its not. It hurts.

It takes Issac far to long to relize that Four is not moving. It takes Issac even longer to find the strength to move. Four is still above him, blood from the multiple puncture wounds seeping from his skin and coating Issac’s stomach and chest, mixing into the blood seeping around the knife still in his leg. The two prongs of the spear skerring his shoulder and upperarm. His weight is balanced just right between his knees and the spear that Issac has to actually shove him off.

It shifts the spear and Issac screams.

He bites the knuckles of his good hand. Then shoves his mouth covering halfway down his throat so he can grab the spear that still pins his dislocated shoulder to the earth. He manages to wiggle it out and it falls to the earth. He coughs and feels the bones in his chest and shoulder and arms shift in ways he really should not.

Issac thinks he has never been more aware of his body than now that the entire thing is on fire.

Its what convinces him he can not be dead because death hurting this much just would not be fair.

He pulls the knife from his leg and grits his teeth around the makeshift gag.

Using Four’s spear as a crutch, he levers himself to his feet and staggers into the hovercraft. The hovercraft that has been patiently waiting but refusing to do anything to actually help. He welcomes the cool embrace of unconsciousness as it slides into motion. This is what death should feel like.

It's over, it's over.....

Not, yet.


	3. Afterparty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the games, people continue to live up to expectations.

Issac wakes and sleeps and wakes again. He wakes screaming and fighting. Punching out with knives no longer tucked by his waist. He yells for his mother. He cries for Willow. He calls for Six and Eleven, who will never have a name because he did not live to reclaim it.

He does not ask for Abernathy. Because Abernathy only appears in his dreams with gifts of blood and the beating hearts of children cradled in worn palms. He gives Issac rope and scorching water to drown the others in.

He wakes to pain, blinding, breathless pain that forces his eyes to water. He begs and pleads for Abernathy then. Because for all the ill they have committed together, he never gave Issac pain. Someone hushes him as he writhes against the bedsheets.

At some point he slips out of bed and curls up by Lynn’s feet as she tries to coax him back on to the sheets.

When he wakes up for the first time, that he knows is real,there is a blonde man asleep by his bed. He’s hallucinated a lot of things recently. Blonde, forty-somethings are not among them.

“Hey.” Issac’s voice is little more than a rasp, careful not to fight against the padded restraints. He thinks they put them on when he started trying to sleep under the bed.

The man looks up. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Issac can not find his voice to call him back. He falls asleep before the doctor gets there.

There are dark, creeping things under his skin. Blood coats the world and the scent of ash fills his throat.

He wakes to a nurse taking needles out of his arm.

He looks at her blankly.

She offers him a faint smile and ruffles his hair. “Hey there, sleepy head.”

Issac turns back to staring at the ceiling. “How many?”

The nurse does not understand and Issac cannot explain.

He sleeps.

A deep voice is yelling. A higher, fearful voice argues back.

Issac sleeps.

They tell him that he bruised a kidney. They tell him they had to operate on his shoulder but that he will only need to wear a sling for a bit and do a few weeks of physical therapy. They say he is tired because he is healing. They do not say how long he will be tired.

He is not allowed to see Abernathy.

He is not allowed to watch TV.

Issac sleeps a lot.

\-------------------

When Issac has finally managed to stay awake for a full day and sleep for a full night, they tell him that Caesar wants to talk to him. He agrees, both because he feels this is not actually a choice and he’s spent the entire last day counting the hair on his arms.

He watches the cameras get set up in silence.

Caesar walks in with a grin, suit, for the first time Issac has seen, not light up.

“Hello, Issac.” He greats.

“Hello, Caesar.” Issac parrots. He grins. “How is life in the spotlight?”

Caesar laughs. “Me? Haven’t you seen? You, Mr. Michael, are eclipsing everyone.”

Issac laughs. He thinks something might be wrong with it but Caesar’s grin does not fade so he ignores it. “I guess I’ll have to get over my stage fright.”

Caesar sits down and techs come over to mess around with mic-ing them up.

“Now, Issac. A few things before we start.” Caesar waits for Issac to nod before continuing. “I know you don’t know what people are saying. We do not allow broadcasts in the medic ward because it tends to upset people.”

Issac nods again.

Caesar continues. “This will not be a live recording.”

Nod.

“So don’t worry about how you’ll come off.”

Nod.

“But I need to tell you upfront that you only have a brief window of time before the name sticks.”

Nod. Wait, “What?” Issac asks.

“People are calling you The Lady Killer.” Caesar’s voice is steady, but his eyes are kind.

Issac’s hands shake and his eyes close. 1, 1-2-1, 1-2-3-2-1, 1-2-3-4-3-2-1. The pattern of his pyramid counting echos in his mind. He opens his eyes and looks back at Caesar. “Is it too late to change it?”

Caesar sits back and crosses his legs. “You’ll have to be careful how you go about it. It needs to fit in with your games.”

So Issac tells the story of the twins. Beautiful and deadly both were Artemis and Apollo. The lord of the sun and the goddess of the moon. He talks about how there was a hunter, Orion, who admired Artemis and sought out her friendship. He speaks of how Apollo was jealous and angry, worried over Artemis’ affections. For Artemis was also the protector of young girls and virgins. So Apollo crafted Scorpio and sent him to strike the hunter dead. Artemis was so saddened by the event that she destroyed the little Scorpion and cried for many days. Until finally, Apollo hung Orion’s image in the sky. Artemis was gladdened and returned to her hunts.

Then Apollo hung Scorpio in the sky, opposite Orion to serve as a reminder and warning to all mortals that his sister was not one to be courted. A promise of Apollo’s wrath and justice.

Issac trails off.

Caesar smiles wide at Issac. “What made you think of that story.”

Issac shrugs. “Scorpio was in the sky the entire time. I looked at him every night. I knew I was not Orion, not a hunter, so I did not have to fear him. He was a tribute, crafted to show the world the error of chasing something that, in Apollo’s eyes, was precious.”

Caesar is shaking his head before Issac finishes. “The audience never saw the sky. Though I guess we could encourage the beastmaster angle...”

Issac frowns. “Can we just twist the Lady Killer title? Like, I know I’m not great looking but-”

“Issac.” Caesar hesitates. “Do you even like girls?”

Issac shrugs. “Never thought about it. I guess they aren’t bad, but I’m not very interested in boys, either yet. I always figured it was a bit pointless to worry about any of that before we all got past reaping age.” He frowns. “Will it matter?”

“Not to the Capitol.” Caesar assures him, but there’s a shadow on his face. “Well, let's talk about something more fun.”

They speak of simpler things for a while after that. What Issac is looking forward to doing after the hospital. Picking a talent. If he’s excited about the upcoming parties. They joke about how awful hospital food is and somehow get on the topic of animals and which ones Issac likes best. Issac has the feeling the Caesar is hinting at something, not leading him by the nose more of giving him options. If he can read between the lines to figure out what those options are.

Caesar does not mention Abernathy until the cameras are being taken down. “Haymitch wants to know how you’re holding up.”

Issac frowns and crosses his arms. “He can ask me himself.”

“They want to save the reunion for the live broadcast.” Caesar waves to the cameras. “This is just because you’ve been sleeping for nearly a week.”

“Oh.” Issac frowns. “How many?”

“Ten kills, thirteen days.” Caesar shrugs. “It's not the longest, shortest, or highest body count. But it will keep people talking.”

Issac nods. “Can I have my stylist?”

Caesar agrees to try to send him. Before he leaves, Caesar squeezes his shoulder. “Keep your head up, Issac.”

“Yes, sir.” Issac agrees.

He sleeps.

 

\------------------

Issac is officially so bored, he has started doing calisthenics. Multiple times a day. Since his body gives out at a third of his pre-game numbers. He pushes himself steadily through physical therapy.

He pretends that the bite marks he wakes up to on his hands are just healing slowly. That he is not reopening them in his sleep.

Through careful maneuvering, he gets Julius to agree with a series of, for Twelve, fairly insane requests. He tries to remember this is his idea during the entire process.

It does not really help.

But Issac is damned if those fuckers are going to call him Lady Killer and think of Willow and Six and One as just targets.

So he gets Julius to bring in Tygris and a young woman named Macy. He talks and tells a different story than the one he gave Caesar. He did the math and while Scorpio was overhead, he would not be able to see Leo, even on the horizon. So everything out of his mouth is horseshit.

But it's appropriately glittery and, like Caesar told him, it fits his games. It fits his games to a damn tee. 

When They finally tell him it's time for his crowning, he has played his hand and committed himself to the consequences.

\------------------

Issac knows he is going to lose it the moment the screen fills with the symbol of the games. He can feel the sweat on the back of his neck and it makes him think of blood. His eyes scan the audience before he forces himself to look at the story being played out on screen.

Now is when he learns whether his public image has any wiggle room, or if he will have to take up the title the people have already bestowed. Even with everything he went through to get it replaced.

It opens with his reaping. The boy looks happy and content to be there. The nervous rocking Issac knows he did is transformed to look like excited bouncing. His performance at the parade is brief, he looks annoyed at the little girl in his arms instead of the seething resentment at his stylist. Who had dressed him and Willow as a pile of slag.

There are several shots of him in the training center. All of which show him taunting various people and laughing.

Does he really laugh that much?

Then its the games. His first kill. The three boy dies and the Issac on screen falls and it looks intentional. Not like he had tripped and gotten lucky. Then terrified of ever moving again. There is blood everywhere.

It looks fucking planned.

As does the next shot of him moving through the grass at night to ambush the girl with brown eyes. It looks like an ambush. Not her practically falling on his spear as she tripped in her haste to run away.

Then the cat shows up behind him and silently follows him to the next group. The girls who were dumb and thought the games were fair but horrid.

It looks like on screen Issac had a lot of fun ripping people apart. They show him Cooing at the cat but not the fact that his knife was inches from its neck. Ready to rip it apart and only holding off because it was not a required kill.

Then it skips several days to show him crouching down amid the scrub. Seeing the snake. Smiling as he tossed it away. The other boy catching it. Going down. Issac taking down the girl. His cold expression as he finished both off.

There is a careful shot of him ripping apart his clothes but it cuts away before he actually starts tending his wounds. Making the motion seem to be fueled by passion instead of necessity. 

They do not show the parachutes.

The shots they do of him laying the rope make it into something very logical and sane. Instead of the dazed panic he had felt at the time. Every beat of his heart moving another layer of ice into his brain.

When he kills the interloper, the angles and enhanced cameras let him see that the boy had green eyes.

It does not show Six coming to shake him awake from his stupor. Insteed it's him bathing, skin shining tanned and the scratches and cuts look artful. Hair forming a halo of gold about his head as he sets off to hunt.

Because the editing makes it seem like he hunted the other boy down and killed him in ire of his weakness. The girl, a more worthy opponent, he plays with before dispatching with a snarling hiss.

He looks like the damn mountain lion mutt. Tawny skin and hair over lithe, flexing muscles and bared fangs.

So when the cat mutt reappears to lead him into battle, it looks breathtaking. He moves with intention and sets his feet into the mutts tracks. His shoulders’ sway matching up with the cats own.

They look like a damn team. When the sky darkens and lightning lights the tall grass on fire, the mutts face twists into the same loathsome expression that his own had.

When the cat goes after the straggler and Issac turns to face the other boy, it looked like a planned and agreed upon event.

The fight, Issac's last fight, he feels is cut down. It happens in flashes.

Issac’s stumble. 

Four’s lunge.

The knife going flying.

Four’s widening eyes.

A knife turning red, red, red.

The sick crack of a bone.

The baton skittering on the ground.

Pain. Pain, pain, pain turning their faces into snarling masks.

More red and dirt and black smoke filling the air.

The trumpets that blare and announce the Victor of the 61st Hunger Games.

On the screen it's mere moments before he is shoving Four away and lifting himself to his feet and roaring in victory as the hovercraft lands. Though he knew he lay there, pinned for at least several minutes. Issac is bizarrely grateful they cut it when he roars to the sky, instead of seconds later when he knew he fell on his face just inside the hovercraft.

The screen darkens and Issac gives himself four seconds to gather himself before turning back to the audience. “I want to adopt that kitty. Best girl a guy like me could have.”

The audience laughs.

Issac turns back to Caesar. But before either of them can say anything, President Snow mounts the stage, an avox trailing him and carrying the crown on a pillow.

Issac raises to his feet before kneeling onstage with as much grace and deference as he can manage. Which is apparently a lot more than even he thought.

Issac keeps his head straight until the President’s feet stop inches from Issac’s knees before he allows his neck to bow down. “President Snow.”

The man chuckles. “I dare say most would say you're the one deserving of honor, tonight.”

Issac tilts his head up and bares his throat. “Even a lion knows respect and strength is not bound by laurels and kneels at the feet of rulers.”

President Snow looks pleased. He places the crown, a twisting thing of silver and gold, upon Issac’s head before guiding him to his feet.

Issac, very familiar with the stench of blood, does not flinch as President Snow places a kiss on his forehead. Like Issac is some favored son, just now returned from war. “Lions also knows flattering rarely works.”

Issac does not falter. “I owe you and the Capitol my life. For no deed I do or have done will ever repay what you have granted me.”

Snow smiles steps back. 

Caesar takes Issac’s hand. “Your Lion! Your Victor of the 61st Hunger Games! Issac Michael!”

The crowd explodes. Issac hears chant of his name interspersed with repetitions of Lion with no mention of Lady Killer.

If nothing goes wrong, the hospital will stay the only place he hears it.

\------------------

Julius pokes and prods and tuts at Issac the next two hours. For sins real and imagined. The circles under his eyes, the teeth marks in his hands, the ongoing argument about his eyeliner choices. Its nearly comforting.

It's still making Issac get more and more tense until he's taken Julius by the neck and hissed at him.

Julius’ throat jumps in his hand as the older man laughs. “Becoming quite the cat.”

Issac releases him and stalks across the dressing room. They're getting ready for the damn banquet. It's awful and Issac just knows he's going to rip into some hapless fool and undo all his work. Its this then the Interview tomorrow, then he goes home.

Though not the Home, where it's three or four to a bed to stay warm. Where Cole snores. It will not be back to the land of finding socks in his pillows or having the younger kids wait for him to lead them back from school. He will never again grab a girl from behind and twirl her around and laugh. 

Because he will be a Victor. Victors have responsibilities to their district and the Capitol that little orphan boys and girls do not.

Issac stares into the mirror. His eyes no longer look like his mother's blue eyes that winked whenever she snuck him scraps behind the Peacekeepers back. They are tawny, more yellow than brown without crossing the line into inhuman. His hair is still sun bleached gold. His skin is still tan, though they took the time to even it out. His incisors are a little bit sharper, his molars tipped out to look more carnivorous.

Julius finally get on with practically sewing him into his shirt and fluffing his hair, and when he snarls into the mirror and sees the mountain lion's eyes and knows that this is going to follow him, he has chosen his ally and his name and they will be with him forever, does he finally relax.

The banquets outfit is formal. No boots but brown shoes, brogging designed in a darker shade to resemble cat paws and claws. Fitted black pants that sparkle, because coal dust was to inappropriate. His dove gray shirt stretched tight over his thin frame, giving hint to muscles that are not really there anymore, after two weeks in the arena and one on enforced bedrest. The jacket is more blue than black and Issac catches the Leo embedded in the front pocket with a frown.

“Just a hint before the interview.” The stylist, Hannah, who was not the one for the parade and is a friend of Tygris, winks.

He laughs. “Okay. But I doubt anyone is blind to my new looks.”

The finishing touch is his District token, that is more a Two token, tighten at his throat like a tie. The smokey quartz lays flat just under the hollow of his throat, a whispered reminder to ‘Do it right’. It fits well with the shirt.

They leave for the banquet.

\------------------

Issac wants to go home. He wants peace and for people to stop touching him so he can stop turning ever flinch into a laugh and then dance with the instigator instead of ripping them to pieces.

President Snow is watching and whenever Issac is about to break form and necks, he gives a slight head tilt and Issac settles back onto his heels. He is a Victor. Victors are the face of their District and he will not shame the people at home like Haymitch does.

Twelve needs the Capitol’s kindness more than Issac needs to punch the girl that just squeezed his ass. Or growl at the man that tries to touch his throat, no just his token, when they dance.

The food is probably good. But Issac can not really chew with the new teeth and so sticks to things that are easy to swallow whole, like juice, or snap with his front teeth, like the weird not-bread someone calls pretzels.

He talks to everyone that they put in front of him. Dances with anyone who asks. When the President requests him with a flick of fingers, he waves the crowd off and lopes up to his side. The man does not speak as Issac follows him from the room.

\--------------

Issac does not say a word until he is lead into Snow’s office. It's red and there are white roses in a vase. Seems he crafts his image as carefully as Issac has tried to.

He waits in the center of the room while Snow takes a seat. He waits as an avox pours drinks and leaves. He waits as Snow takes a sip.

“Your performance on stage was quite a trick.” President Snow sounds suspicious.

Issac rolls back on his heels. “I meant every word.”

“So you say.” President Snow says.

Issac blinks and falters. “Sir...” He licks his lips. “I need to know... why me?”

President Snow waves a hand for Issac to continue.

Issac gathers his thoughts. “I know that the games and reapings are only altered when it is necessary to protect the people of Panem. I know that. So, how do I do that? The cat was a nice touch. But it's not usually in a mutts design to spare or go after a specific tribute. 

“What do you require of me that made it correct? How can I protect Panem from war?” Issac blushes and looks down. “I'm just...”

“What you are, Lion, is a perfect example of a loyal citizen. You gained the Capitol’s mercy at a young age. We could have let you and everyone else in district Twelve starve. But instead we sent people to take you in and care for you. In return, you gave them blood and a storyline of the savagery of combat. No amount of training or skill or attempts at innocence from the other tributes swayed you. You stayed a... reminder of what we have the games for. The purpose they serve.”

When Issac looks up, the President is smiling. “Which is why I would like to introduce you to the New Head Peacekeeper we'll be sending home with you. So that you can help him, help the people of Twelve remember our mercy.”

The door opens.

Issac does not turn because ice has recently decided to replace his muscles and if he turns he will fall and if he falls he will shatter.

He remembers being five and his mother being whipped. How she could not walk afterwards. He does not remember her crime. But he knows it was Haymitch Abernathy’s year of Victory. 

The year when he learned the Hanging Tree song from countless repetitions before the newly erected gallows.

When Peacekeeper Lynn took him into the Home, he hid under his bed for days until she dragged him out and explained what the words war and rebellion meant. She told him the truth about what their new Victor had done and smiled pityingly at him when he claimed he'd never shame them in such a way.

In his sheer terror of death before the games, Issac had forgotten. He had plead for Abernathy to keep him. To protect him from the monsters. Forgetting that Abernathy called them up. Just like the gamemakers did.

Just like Issac will.

“Peacekeeper Leon Dexus, met the other Lion.” Snow grins.

Issac forces a smile at the joke and wonders if the man went through the entire list of potential candidates to get one so named. He turns and offers his hand. “Peacekeeper Dexus, it's an honor to know Twelve will receive your attention.”

Leon Dexus is a beast. If Issac can be compared to a mountain lion, then Leon is a savanna Lion. Lazy and flat nosed with a wide mouth and cruel brown eyes. He is at least a foot taller than Issac and three of him at the shoulders.

Where Issac’s outfit is meant to make it look like Isaac has some muscle mass left, Dexus actually does. Peacekeeper uniforms are streamlined and rugged, but somehow the crisp whites make Issac think of ash and bitter blood on his tongue.

When the man takes his hand, Issac is surprised to find he does not try to break it. Dexus’ grasp remains strong, but loose. A Lion sniffing a butterfly. But the callous and obvious strength is not concealed. Issac doubts it could be.

“You played well.” Dexus’ voice is deep, but smooth.

Issac feels his gut tighten. “I was told the honor and purpose of the games at a young age. I merely allowed that purpose to guide me.”

Dexus smiles.

Issac forces himself to breath evenly. A predator will chase unneeded prey if said prey is dumb and spooked enough to run. He can stand his ground here, perhaps he will be allowed to protect Twelve.

At least the orphan kids.

And Peacekeeper Lynn.

He also owes Abernathy one.

But just one.

He nods and turns back to Snow. “Besides helping Peacekeeper Dexus, is there any other way I should serve the Capitol?”

“Go enjoy the party. The Capitol does not need the same reminder the Districts do.” President Snow smiles.

Issac offers a grin back and offers Dexus a cheery half salute before leaving. The moment the door closes, he leans against the wall and shoves a hand into his mouth to stop from screaming. An insurmountable amount of time later, he pulls it away and makes sure to wipe the blood on the inside of his pant leg, so it will not be noted.

He walks back to the party and smiles the rest of the night. The Capitol does not need to understand war to tolerate peace.

Issac did not argue when they took him back to the hospital for fatigue. He felt drained and scarred, though he has no scars left. He can feel them on his skin. There is blood everywhere as they strip him of his clothes and put him to bed. It limes his feet and shoulders, coats his face and drips from his hair. He will never get it off.

It's the price he pays for another year of peace. Another year of twenty-three dead instead of hundred of thousands. It is not personal, aside from it is him who the eyes will track and fail to truly see. It is just a game they all must play. He and Snow and most of the other Victors, who understand that while this is a nightmare, it is not the worse nightmare one could have.

Abernathy did not understand, so they had to make him. Peacekeeper Lynn was very clear about that.

Issac hopes that Twelve will accept this peace and Dexus will not have to make them. No punishment is ever truly unearned.

 

\--------------

They put him in prep the next morning and he spends all of it in a haze of weariness and stress. At some point, Julius offers him small yellow pills to ‘perk him up’. Issac accepts and pockets them.

He does not know what they do, but he figures it's nothing that will help him keep his head. He drinks the coffee, which he also thinks may be drugged, though. He does not try to eat. He managed to cut his tongue and cheek on his teeth last night and is in no interest of doing it again. 

They stop just short of dressing him in fur. But his pants are white leather and so are his boots, they are not shined, but it's still a bit off from what Issac imagined ever wearing for an interview. The white shirt has been starched within an inch of it’s life. It’s tight and has absolutely no redeeming qualities over then it's not more leather. That is saved for white vest that snips in his waist. There is detailing on the side of both the vest and pants. But the lights in the room have gotten brighter and the voices seem to echo more. Something is off, wrong. But it's not until Julius is tying his token on that he notices what it is in a side mirror.

It’s meant to look like a peacekeeper's uniform. Not directly, not enough that he could walk through a command center and not get called out. But it's a close enough allusion that, should he be out walking with a regimen, he might be mistaken for one at a glance.

It's a message meant just for District Twelve and Abernathy. One that clearly states that, though a Victor from Twleve has won, he does not belong to them.

Issac decides to tuck it in behind where he hides all the other monsters in his head.

They finally declare him done and he’s lead off to the staging area for the final interview. The wait backstage takes forever, but when he’s finally called up, he wishes he was still waiting.

The pills have taken full effect. The lights are too bright and the laughter disjointed, like his hearing keeps going in and out. He listens to the sound of his own voice and is somehow completely removed from it all. He prattles about everything. Giving paragraph answers to four word questions that Caesar has to maneuver through to keep it all on track. 

Near the end of it, the lights finally start to dim and Issac becomes achingly aware of how dry his throat is. How some little part of him just wants to crawl into a dark corner and cry. He abruptly finds himself talking about his family in a flat voice. He admits a secret that he has not spoken aloud since his mother reprimanded him for it. He wants to learn. He wants to put things together and make everything make sense the same way Peacekeeper Lynn always makes things make sense.

He does not say that last part. Caesar safely steers him away from it. Grateful, Issac lets the other man lead him safely through the rest of the interview and even leans into the hand he places on Issac’s shoulder to lead him out of the studio.

“Nearly over now, Issac.” Caesar assures him.

Issac nods and set his face back to smiling. He strides out into the waiting crowds full of people who want to touch him and get his autograph. The people President Snow feels does not need a warning about the cost of rebellion and war. Not this year, at least.

He lets them lean into him and signs anything and anyone they put in front of him. A little boy with green eyes, and no knife dripping blood from his throat, shows him a picture of a cat and tells him he named it Willow, since his parents let him adopt it during the games.

Issac actually crouches down to take a picture with him and advise him to take good care of his kitty-cat. Otherwise his parents will have to take it back so she can be given to someone who will treat her right.

Issac thinks he might not be thinking of the cat. The boy just smiles and promises he will.

Finally they lead him to the train. He waves and smiles and promises to be back soon until the train starts up and takes the platform out of sight. He walks into the carriage and lays down on the floor.

“Well, as far as it goes, could have been worse.” Issac says to the ceiling. 

Abernathy snores.

Issac glances to the side to see the man asleep, bent over the dining table. He starts laughing.


	4. Trainride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issac has a bit of a breakdown.

The train ride takes forever. At some point Issac drops off and wakes up in his bed. He’s uncertain how he may have gotten there but is no longer wearing shoes. The vase by the side table is shattered against the door. It re-opens and Dexus pokes his head around it. “I see you have a full case of crazy-baby-Victor syndrome.”

Issac grunts and slips off the bed to roll underneath it.

Dexus fishes him out by the ankle and no amount of kicking and snarling stops the man from carrying him into the prep car. Julius and his preps get to work. Julius goes so far as to try to drug him again but Issac nearly takes his hand off.

They put him in white again, though this time it's a bulky leather pilots jacket and shined boots. He snarls and jerks away every time one of them tries to touch his face to put on makeup. They only give up when Abernathy shows up and does some snarling of his own.

Abernathy leads him into the dining cart and they sit across from each other as they eat. Or drink, in both their cases. Though Issac is choking down a grassy tasting cocktail of something, something protien and Abernathy is consuming his usual liquor.

Issac wonders how drunk the man was when he sent him glitter.

Dexus does not join them and when Julius tries, Abernathy slings together a grouping of nouns and adjectives that would see Issac whipped back home.

Issac coughs around his... he’s going to go with ‘soup’ for all its in a glass. Julius looks murderous and Issac just bares his fangs at him.

Abernathy is watching him far too carefully for a drunk when Issac looks back. He quirks an eyebrow.

Abernathy shakes his head. “You going to start talking at all? Seemed pretty chatty yesterday.”

Issac frowns and swirls the last of the soup in the bottom of the cup. He shakes his head. He should not talk to Abernathy, he can not fully remember why but this is important. He is a maker of monsters. Bad things happen when he asks for Abernathy.

They sit in silence until the train slows to refuel.

Issac goes to the window to watch the people, peacekeepers in white and Sixes in grubby overalls, go about their business. They all seem so remote and far away. Issac nods his head and bounces it lightly against the glass. Abernathy’s image is distorted in the glass as he walks up behind Issac.

He’s holding a knife and Issac spins to stop the blow and ends up panting, crouched down with his hand over his head like a scared child. Abernathy hand hovers, empty, about where Issac’s shoulder use to be.

Issac looks up and sees Willow’s sad gray eyes. He curls into himself and pretends. When he closes his eyes and Abernathy is not talking, there are no monsters. Nothing in his head but his own panting breaths and the slight pain of his own hand tugging his hair. They stay like that until the train starts moving.

“Come on, kid. Up we get.” Abernathy urges.

Issac moves and is dragged over to the bench. He pulls his knees up and wraps his hands around Abernathy’s midsection, pinning one arm with the half thought that it will make attacking him more difficult. With that idea still swimming in his mind, he grabs the wrist on the other side. He hangs on even as Abernathy snorts a laugh.

He wakes up to Abernathy untangling himself and half slips under the bench until he spots Dexus in the doorway. The man’s face is oddly blank. Like, really blank. The way Peacekeeper Lynn’s face gets when-

Issac is scrambling to his feet and darting over to him before the thought can fully form. “How can I help?”

Dexus shakes his head slowly but opens his mouth anyway. “Stay out of the way, kid. This won’t concern you.”

Issac tucks his hands behind his back so he does not fist them. The Capitol is always listening. They listen to protect us from people like Abernathy, who would cause war and rebellion. “I promised I’d do what I could. You remember. This very much concerns me.”

Dexus looks at him, blank face still on.

Issac looks back, the same face on.

It seems Dexus will relent when Abernathy abruptly grabs his shoulder. “Sorry about that. We’ll be sure to let you get on with your job.”

Issac snarls and shoves his way out of Abernathy's grip.

Dexus slips out from the room.

Abernathy and Issac stare each other down. Or rather, Issac snarls and stares while Abernathy keeps his hands loose and relaxed at his sides. He seems surprisingly sober, which for a chronic alcoholic means he is just the right amount of drunk.

Issac opens his mouth and Julius swans back into the room. “Time to get ready for one last appearance before the victory tour. I can hardly wait!”

Abernathy looks suddenly a lot more drunk. Issac would have his hackles up if he had any. Sadly, the human body is not all that accommodating.

Julius cups Issac’s shoulder and leads him out, fussing over his clothes. None of his touches linger long enough for Issac to object, but he still comes away feeling like a badly stroked cat. He walks, blinking into the sunlight of the platform to catch the tail end of Dexus’ speech.

“.... Intense scrutiny of the Capitol should have no effect on law abiding citizens, such as your new Victor.” Peacekeeper Dexus’ voice booms out over the assemble crowd.

Issac spots far too many peacekeepers among the edges of the crowd. These people have been rounded up for this. Corralled so they can take the news far and wide like squawking geese once released. Issac does not see anyone he immediately knows. There are a few he recognises from various errands, but as a whole he barely knows the people of his own District and the ones he does are all in school right now or busy working. The people before him are the extras. The spouses of workers and the otherwise unemployed. Many look sick and underfed. Some are unable to smother their hacking coughs from living in an environment filled with coal dust.

Issac takes the hand Dexus offers with a solemn nod, but he cannot raise the energy to speak. He merely looks out at the crowd before letting Julius and a throng of white uniforms lead him from the station.

Abernathy falls behind and, just out of the corner of Issac’s eye, he sees him talk to someone who is directling the unloading of a plain white coffin.

Issac looks steadily forward after that as he is directed to the Justice Building. There are cameras and the mayor looks genuinely glad to see him anyway. Issac bares his teeth in a grin and lets everyone else talk. He retreats from the room just as he retreated from the stylists and preps. Physically, he is there and lets them direct his movements, but in every other way he is gone away somewhere else. He only vaguely remembers whose hand he shakes.

At some point, someone hands him a baby and he makes faces at them until they laugh. At another point, Abernathy shows up and starts hovering inches from his shoulder. It does not matter where he goes, Abernathy is right behind him. Usually answer questions and throwing smoke at people.

They head toward Victor’s village and someone hands him a key. He heads toward the only house with lights on behind the high fence. Its next door to Abernathy’s place, which someone has taken pains to clean up. His new House is vast, built sixty years ago, back when everyone thought that the Victors would be more or less evenly distributed between the Districts and so having twelve houses to a village made some sense. He looks at the stone work and the open shutters in the windows. Bright light stream from them and he knows someone must have gone through and cleaned and stocked everything. So he knows he will have supplies for at least a week.

He opens the door and slips inside. He closes it with a thud and relocks it. Someone bangs on the other side. Issac starts going to every window and securing the shutters. He catches glimpses of the argument happen outside but ignores it. He has done his job. He played the game the right way and even did the interview afterwards. He is not required to do horseshit until the tour.

He plans to take advantage of that.

 

\--------------

His resolve to ignore the entire world until Willow’s gray eyes stop haunting him lasts right up until he wakes up from nightmares the fourth night in a row. The fog of the arena is covering his mind, leaving no chance of restful sleep. He keeps seeing himself covered in blood. He has managed to break every piece of funiture in all the bedrooms over waist height when he wakes in a panic. There are four bedrooms and he has tried everyone in sequence in hopes that it might be location based.

He can not stand to put on a shirt because everytime he does, he sees the sides turning red and crusting over with drying blood. His hair he has hacked off because the water keeps turning red and he’s half convinced its acid that will leave him blistered and bloated like....

He keeps his showers brief and the shorter hair helps with that.

He’s run out of things he can safely eat. This happened at least a day ago now.

He needs to go shopping. But its dark outside. He does not want to see people. People he will have to....

He slips from his house dressed in loose wool pants and nothing else. He walks to the place he knows will have something laying around. The door is locked but the second story window is easy enough to slip through after scurrying up the drainpipe. He slips down quickly to the kitchen and freezes when he spots the figure at the table.

But then Abernathy gives a snore and Issac notices that he’s slumped and clearly passed out. He hesitates. But the call to sleep is stronger than any of his fears and, furthmore, its not like he can not get away before the drunk wakes up.

He curls under the table and falls asleep to the sounds of another person nearby. One no one will ever expect him to kill.

He’s asleep before he can remember all the reasons he should not be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm calling this for the first part of the series. The next part will be posted upon its completion and will cover Issac's tour and first year (or so) of mentoring.


End file.
